


under a spotlight and a microscope

by Kaiosea



Category: Infinite (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - High School, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoya's never seen the need for close relationships. He learns to lay down roots in order to grow.</p><p>At an elite ballet boarding school, Infinite are competitive pre-professionals on the cusps of their careers. Ballet AU. Multi-chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm adding the accents on the French terms very soon)

“Two plies and a grande, port de bras forward and back, in first, second and fifth, sous-sus soutenu and repetez on the other side.”

At the barre, Hoya barely listens as teacher Dongmin gives the plie combination. Auditions for the most important roles of their lives up til now are tomorrow and they’re learning the routines today, so there’s a legitimate reason for him to be preoccupied. Besides, plies vary minimally from day-to-day and Hoya has trained himself to memorize combinations of steps as soon as he hears them. Warmup is warmup, and the same large muscle groups always have to be activated in order to bring the body to full working condition.

Before the music starts, Hoya automatically moves his arms into first position, readies his core and checks his posture in the mirror. He’s standing at his favorite spot, behind his practice partner Dongwoo and in front of Sungyeol. Which means Myungsoo, Sunggyu, Sungjong and Woohyun are on the other side of the barre. Facing forward, Dongwoo’s posture is straight, just like Hoya’s: They don’t have as much height as most of the others, so it’s even more imperative that the two of them stand correctly at all times. Checking himself in the mirror, Hoya notices that Sungyeol, on the other hand, is still leaning on the bar, looking unprofessional and unready, in Hoya’s opinion. Hoya would kill to have his height, so it’s a shame he doesn’t put it to more use. There’s really no excuse.

Hoya’s body continues to wake up as Dongmin instructs them through the next combinations: tendus, degages, rond de jambe, fondu, developpe. Hoya pays particular attention to his turnout as his leg half-circles on the floor, toe pointed in a perfect arch. Well, near-perfect. He makes a note to concentrate on his arch exercises when he gets back to the dorm at night. He’s been doing them for years, using a special elastic band to increase his foot strength and flexibility.

Dongmin observes them and gives small corrections as he walks around the studio.

“Sungyeol, stretch your feet the entire time they are off the ground.”

“Myungsoo, it’s tendu devant, degage degage, tendu derriere interieur, degage degage degage degage, make sure you have the right foot.”

“Woohyun, better than it has been, keep working on the turnout.”

“Good, Hoya.”

Hoya doesn’t allow the rare compliment to go to his heart, stopping its path once he has processed it in his brain.

In the center, they’re working on jumping combinations across the floor. Hoya likes jumps, the way his body is trained to soften the effects of gravity when he lands. They’re not his forte, though. They’re more up Dongwoo’s alley. And as Dongwoo practically flies across the floor with his grand jetes, Hoya wonders once more if Dongwoo is a new kind of bird with invisible wings.

The other surprising dancer who is naturally good at jumps is Myungsoo, whose stage name is L for some reason Hoya has never bothered to find out. Myungsoo has the most natural bulk of them all, especially in his legs. His muscled thighs flex beneath his tights as he wills himself into the air by force, but the result is unfortunately not graceful. Sometimes Hoya thinks it’s a wonder that Myungsoo usually manages to land on his feet; he remembers the years when every inch of the ground was Myungsoo’s enemy.

Dongmin has them do the combination one by one as usual, and he offers them alternating constructive criticisms. Hoya stretches and mentally critiques his fellow dancers, sizing them up with particular care in anticipation of tomorrow (it’s a habit he’s never rid himself of).

Sunggyu goes first, sliding from glissades to grand jetes fluidly. He gets a bit behind towards the end, but he finishes solidly, if not impressively. Maybe his body type holds him back. Hoya isn’t sure whether Sungjong, for instance, does the weight-bearing exercises designed to help them look powerful, but he knows for a fact that Sunggyu does, and yet the lines of his body do not show his strength. When they were younger, Sunggyu was the very best in their class and Hoya ached to catch up. But then puberty hit, and the rankings got scrambled and Sunggyu wasn’t at the top. It happened the same way in the girls’ class, he’d heard. They’re all limited by their bodies in some way. Myungsoo could be a bit too muscular for some future companies, and Sungyeol can’t partner with the shortest girls but Hoya and Dongwoo can’t partner with the tallest. So maybe it’s Sunggyu’s body type, or maybe he just has other interests- though Hoya privately thinks he’s at the wrong type of school if ballet isn’t his goal.

“Watch Sungjong, see how weightless he looks coming down? It’s because he uses his feet to cushion his landing, working through the tips to the heels of his feet. I want to see all of you doing that.”

Hoya watches Sungjong double pirouette completely on center, on balance, and then fall out of it, ending messy. While he was in the turn, Hoya was mesmerized by his quick spotting and his graceful arms, but the falling out is a simple technical problem. Sungjong’s dancing has always intrigued Hoya for some frustrating illogical reason he could never pinpoint. Whenever Sungjong dances, he wants to watch, even if he can assess that it isn’t great from a technical standpoint. Through the years, Sungjong has never been at the top of the class; truthfully, he’s usually near the bottom, but he was never in danger of being cut from the intensive program either. There’s a mysterious quality to his persona, too. It’s well known that Lee Sungjong practices alone, ever since the time that a first year accidentally walked in on him in a practice room and got chewed out so intensely by Sungjong that the story spread to all class levels. The intense environment of the school, living with the same people they go to class with and practice with and compete against, affects all of them in different ways. Hoya wonders what he does in those practice sessions that makes his dancing so unpredictable.

“Notice how Hoya times his steps so each is perfectly on the meter when he lands. You have to use your brain to be good at dance.”

As he steps out of the last turn, Hoya glances at Sungyeol without meaning to.

When Hoya thinks of intelligence, he thinks of Sungyeol. Sungyeol picks up combinations just as fast as Hoya, and lately it seems that he memorizes them even faster, if that’s possible. It just doesn’t seem like he cares as much or like he’s really trying his hardest. Maybe it’s because Sungyeol transferred late; he entered the academy when he was 11 while the rest of them have been training here since they were 6 or 7 or younger. He just doesn’t have the same discipline as the rest of them, though most of the teachers see a lot of potential. It’s easy to see why he’s here as he stretches his long fingertips to the opposite wall on an impressive arabesque en releve, but hard to know how long he’ll last. Sungyeol fakes the last jump of the routine, moving his arms but not his legs, and Hoya sees him whisper in Myungsoo’s ear, causing the other boy to giggle.

“Let’s move on. As you all know, auditions are tomorrow, and we have a guest choreographer who will be monitoring your auditions and giving input to the Artistic Director. As the academy’s highest class, you are all up for the roles of the Prince and the Jester.”

Obviously, they all want the role of the Prince. The Jester is a comic role, though of course having a named, main role is better than being in the corps.

“Since you’re all graduating soon, and you’ll be on the market, this is a great opportunity to get noticed by recruiters or by our own Artistic Director. So: let’s start with the Prince’s solo. Remember, this is also a part that requires acting, so don’t neglect the face...” and Hoya tunes out.

Hoya is glad to discover that the solo is well within his technical range. When Dongmin instructs, “Tombe pas de bouree glissade, pirouette a la seconde” and calls off ten other steps in rapid succession, Hoya is able to follow with no hesitation, even though Myungsoo and Sungjong need to hear it again. Hoya learns steps like a sponge soaking up water, driven by his desire for the part.

Disliking himself for doing so, Hoya also monitors Dongwoo. Dongwoo learns fast but without total accuracy. He invents a new catch step between phrases, which Dongmin corrects, even though the small step would never be noticed by a non-professional and it did make the routine more fluid. Hoya knows that when Dongwoo dances, he lifts the audience to his emotional level so they feel happiness, sadness, anger, with every turn of his hips. Even if Hoya is better technically, he knows there is no certainty he’ll get the part over Dongwoo.

Last term, the two of them were double-cast as the male lead in their class year's performance. That meant they’d traded the role back and forth on alternating nights. Unfortunately, Dongmin hadn’t mentioned whether they were double-casting the leads for this show, which meant there was a very low probability of double-casting this time.

That means Dongwoo will be Hoya’s main competition for this solo, which sucks, because Dongwoo is not only extremely talented, he’s also Hoya’s best friend at the academy. It’s not a huge qualification, since Dongwoo is also his only friend (well, there’s Woohyun, but he’s friendly with everyone, mainly by sheer force of will). Which is fine by Hoya, who has never seen the need for many close friendships. Sometimes he watches Sunggyu and Woohyun banter at lunchtime, and he notices Sungyeol and Myungsoo passing notes in History class. And Dongwoo is friends with most everyone in their year, girls too, and sometimes he’ll invite Hoya to a movie he’s seeing with Woohyun or Victoria or Hyoyeon, and Hoya can never keep track of who he’s dating and who he’s just friends with since even his friendships seem so… intimate. Over the years they’ve been friends, the most awkward times that Hoya turned him down were when Dongwoo asked Hoya if he wanted to double date with any girls from their year. After a few rejections Dongwoo seemed to understand why Hoya always awkwardly said no, even if neither of them said so.

Even if Hoya were interested in someone, he figures he probably wouldn’t act on it, since dance and school are more important. They’re in ballet from six in the morning until noon, then academic classes until five or six, then more ballet. And on the weekends, they have ballet for at least six hours each day, sometimes more. That’s all without counting performances, tech rehearsals, dress rehearsals, or the extra hours of practice that they all put in, or that Hoya assumes they do.

Dongwoo’s the only one that seems to understand Hoya’s intense drive to succeed without being intimidated or judging him for it, probably because Dongwoo doesn’t seem to judge anyone for anything. When Hoya thinks of princes, he doesn’t think of himself. He thinks of Dongwoo and his generous spirit and endless energy, or even Woohyun, who certainly has all the diplomatic skills of royalty, and who is third best in their class to boot.

But for today, for tomorrow, and hopefully--but not certainly--for the next few months, Hoya has to act like a prince. Whatever that entails.

He would rather not compete with his only friend, but that’s just how it is, he tells himself. Hoya’s glad it will all be over in a few days when the cast list is posted, but until then he’ll be lucky if he can get a wink of sleep. Dongmin motions him to the center and Hoya knows he’ll do his best.

::

In French class later that day, the teacher notices that they’re all hopelessly distracted. Since this only happens around audition time, she offers them free conversation time for the last ten minutes, which means that they can just talk amongst themselves as long as they chat in French.

Sungyeol immediately picks up his entire desk and moves to sit with Myungsoo. Seeing no reaction from the teacher, the rest of the class follows suit, rearranging to sit with their friends.

In French, Sungyeol says, “Wow, glad I didn’t dive off class. I almost didn’t come today, but this is like nothing.” Having studied French with native speaking teachers since the age of five (Sungyeol had lessons before coming here), they’re both proficient enough that they can converse almost normally.

“Don’t you already have three lates and an off?”

“That was last term, they don’t carry over. I just didn’t do the homework today.”

“You didn’t? But it was easy.”

“That’s why I didn’t do it.” Sungyeol had skimmed the worksheets, pages of stupid verb tense repetition, and decided it wasn’t a good use of his time.

Normally Myungsoo would be insanely amused by this contradiction, but instead he just seems worried. “Yeol. I can’t do the solo.”

Sungyeol’s heart drops. Myungsoo’s been saying these kinds of things more and more lately. It’s clear he means the Prince’s audition piece, since the Jester is easier. “What do you mean, you can’t do it?”

“I just can’t. It’s too hard, I think I forgot half of it already.”

“OK, I’m pretty sure none of those things are true.” Sungyeol tries to lighten the conversation, but he knows how difficult it is to revive Myungsoo when he’s in one of his funks.

Myungsoo stops chewing his lip off for a second. “I feel like they are.”

What’s he supposed to say to that?

Myungsoo looks up at him, depending on him.

They’ve been friends ever since Sungyeol first got here and Myungsoo was his assigned roommate. Sungyeol was the only new guy, and Myungsoo had immediately liked him, while the other guys in their year had ranged from nice enough to downright suspicious of any potential competition (and Sungyeol was not good at talking to girls as a budding pubescent 11-year-old. Not that he’s any better now). They’d had their differences at first, because Myungsoo snores like a broken lawnmower and Sungyeol’s a perpetual light sleeper, but once he discovered earplugs they were fast friends.

They have separate rooms now, but Sungyeol feels like half his possessions are scattered on Myungsoo’s floor, and half Myungsoo’s life in his. It would almost scare him, the way they rely on each other here in this sterile place, if it weren’t necessary for them to keep progressing in the elite dance program--that is, to keep their sanity.

When Myungsoo gets down on himself like this, Sungyeol just wants to yell, _I feel the same way almost all of the time, like I’m not good enough, like I don’t work hard enough, like I don’t have talent,_ minus the whole forgetting things part. Steps adhere to the sides of his mind, never coming unglued. Not that it helps any, since it does him no good to remember all of the moves if he can’t make his body actually execute them properly. And then later when he’s replaying the steps in his mind, it makes him feel even worse to ruminate over every exact mistake he made.

“We’ll work on it tonight.” Sungyeol says finally. “We’ll run it until you can do it in your sleep.”

“Sleep,” Myungsoo confirms. “Are you sure? Won’t that mess up your own schedule?”

“I already have the practice room reserved and everything.” That’s not really a lie, since he was planning on practicing anyways. Kind of.  

Myungsoo looks skeptical, but he nods. 

Sungyeol says, “I need the practice just as much as you do. I still can’t do at least a full three 8-counts in the middle section.” It’s probably a good thing that they’re going to practice, since Sungyeol truly can’t do it as well as he should be able to.

Myungsoo unfurrows his brow. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, course. We’ll do it until you’re spectacular. Better than Hoya!” Now that gets a laugh out of Myungsoo.

As if he has supernatural hearing, Hoya turns his head from across the room and glances at Sungyeol with the same inscrutable expression he always wears. There’s a person who Sungyeol’s wary of, Hoya with his serious face and perfect feet and rigorous practice schedule, and who will most likely get the lead tomorrow, unless Dongwoo can snatch it from under him. Sungyeol’s highest hope is the Jester role, since he thinks he’s decent at acting, especially when it comes to being funny by making a fool of himself. He can’t imagine himself as the Jester to Hoya’s Prince, though, trying to make a person made of ice laugh.

Sungyeol pulls up the practice room reservations on his phone and schedules them in for the rest of the night. They’ll sleep once the next day is over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I have them striving for a role called the prince, and yet I didnt think about Machiavelli until I was halfway through this chapter. Just luck or my subconscious that the reference still halfway makes sense!

Hoya tries sleeping on his left side, his right side, his front and his back. His legs tangle in his sheets and he can’t decide whether he is too warm or too cold or fine. Nothing is happening. He isn’t screwed if he doesn’t sleep, since it doesn’t seem to affect him as much as some of the others, who drink coffee to live. Hoya doesn’t drink coffee. He has never needed caffeine or whatever, though; when he wants to be awake, he just is. Maybe it’s a control thing, or luck.

Even so, he still functions better when he sleeps than when he doesn’t, so if he’s not awake and productive, he’d rather get some rest, and that isn’t happening now. His thoughts swirl around, almost disconnecting from his body as he lies there in almost total darkness. The next day holds a lot of pressure, and while he can try to distract himself from thinking during the day by constantly moving, the night brings silence and stillness, the best recipe for a ponderous conversation with himself.

He thinks about the part, and how it would feel to be one step closer to his ultimate dream of being a principal in a well-known company. It would be a very small advantage when weighed against the work of years he sees down the road in front of him, but he wants anything that could give him a shortcut or a head start. Turning onto his left side, he thinks about what his siblings would say, or what his family would say, and then he stops thinking about them. He doesn’t notice when his conscious thoughts slow to a lazy whirl, and the film of scattered images gently fades out and he finally drifts into dreams.

When he next regains consciousness he has no memory of dreaming, blank as the wall he’d been staring at prior to falling asleep. He has slept, though, according to the red numbers of his digital clock, which he has to squint to make out. It’s early in the morning, too early to properly get up and start moving around for the day. Better to just try to fall back asleep, he thinks, even as he feels his gut seize up with… What? Anxiety? He’s never been nervous over a part before, ambitious sure, but never stressed or worried. He can’t figure out what is different this time, what causes his stomach to roll with what feels like finality, or if he just has a stomachache, or if his pains are phantoms imagined by his mind. The dark is a difficult companion, and he prefers to be alone.

He also realizes that he has to piss and sighs to himself with annoyance. The men’s bathroom is in the hallway, and while he doesn’t think he’d run into anyone at this hour (always awkward), it is such a hassle to have to… get up and walk five steps. Hoya understands the irony of being a full-time dancer and yet not wanting to get out of bed to relieve himself. Nevertheless, biological impulse calls and he drags his body out and into the bathroom.

After he’s done, he goes to wash his hands, pumping the sterilized, liquid soap that dries out his skin. A stall door opens with a loud noise and Hoya is startled, though he gives no physical response. He hadn’t thought anyone was there.

“Hi,” the other person says.

“Hi,” Hoya says to the blurry person. “Who are you?”

“Huh? I’m Sungyeol. I’m in your class.” Next to Hoya, Sungyeol turns the water on, sounding distinctly annoyed. “I see you every day? For hours-” Hoya cuts him off.

“I know who you are. I just can’t see without my glasses, and I didn’t recognize your voice from ‘hi.’”

“Your vision’s that bad?” Hoya has the feeling that Sungyeol is looking at him with suspicion.

“Yeah.”

Apparently Sungyeol accepts that answer enough to keep talking. “Sooo. Why are you awake?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Sungyeol lets his breath out all at once, and Hoya can’t tell whether it’s in sympathy or disbelief. “Nervous?”

“No,” Hoya lies. “You?”

“Practicing.”

Now it’s Hoya’s turn to hold back a scoff. “Until 3AM?”

Defensively, Sungyeol says, “So, don’t you do that a lot?”

“Yeah, but-” And he realizes he can’t say _but I’m me, and you’re you,_ without it sounding narcissistic or callous or utterly wrong. Or redundant, since even as Hoya stops speaking it’s pretty obvious what he really meant to say.

Over the sound of the hand dryer, Hoya can’t tell if Sungyeol says Hoya’s infamous nickname or not. Either way, the conversation is over.

They are forced to exit the bathroom together, and their rooms are just down the hall. Surprisingly, there’s yet another bleary person in the murky hallway, and Hoya just wants to go to bed.

“Hi Sungjong,” Sungyeol says, possibly saying his name for Hoya’s benefit so he doesn’t embarrass himself again.

“Hi.” Sungjong must be coming back from one of his secret midnight practices. Hoya knows better than to inquire as to how the sessions are going, since he’s eavesdropped on enough conversations to know how that will end. Sungjong is very protective of his alone time and what he does with it.

So that’s as far as the conversation goes, since it’s clear that none of them wants to talk to each other. They slip inside their rooms to wait for morning.

:::

Waiting outside the room where the artistic director and the guest choreographer are prepared to judge him on his Prince solo, Sungyeol tries not to panic. He reminds himself that he has both of the audition pieces fully in his memory. He spent ages last night reviewing with Myungsoo, trying to help him achieve the same comfort with the routine. Myungsoo needed to have everything shown again, partially because he’d been so nervous during class that he had missed a lot of the combinations the first time Dongmin demonstrated them (and who could learn with Hoya watching like a hawk, anyways).

Usually he wouldn’t practice that much, since it frustrates Sungyeol to do the same repetitive motions again and again and he just gets bored when he practices. He likes dance class itself, but practicing the same routine for weeks is dull, and sometimes he thinks he actually gets worse the more he practices something since any enthusiasm he has evaporates fast.

But for just one night, having to do the same turns and leaps in two 2-minute routines, boring as it was, led his body to better appreciate and sink into the steps. While it was happening it was tedious, trying to make his feet point every time they left the floor in a tendu, or remembering to clench his stomach the whole time. But by the end his body felt more in line with his mind, drenched in sweat that matched his mental fatigue. Since he already dances for a minimum of seven hours a day, Sungyeol doesn’t often practice for extra hours like that on his own, but it occurs to him that he always appreciates the merit once it’s over. He wonders why the most uninteresting things are often the most useful: just like drilling verbs in French when he was younger means that he can now conjugate automatically when conversing. Once his body movements became automatic, dancing the solos was fun. The Prince is young and majestic, so it’s fun to pretend to be like that; and, the Jester is clever and humorous, two traits that Sungyeol sees in himself as well. He likes wielding a sword, playing tricks on courtiers, or exploring imaginary forests (there’s always a forest in ballet).

Myungsoo had progressed a lot too, enough to confidently perform both solos without pausing or making mistakes. He wasn’t as good as Sungyeol, but by the end he’d got some of the right feeling into the dance. Yet while Sungyeol had left feeling more confident, Myungsoo had still seemed down, but he attributes that to tiredness. There’s no zombie like Myungsoo when he’s tired.

Although Hoya had acted incredibly odd last night, in the bathroom, and maybe that had been fatigue as well. Hoya works so intensely, Sungyeol wouldn’t be surprised. Or maybe the guy is just that weird, or that standoffish. A lot of people at the academy are.

Myungsoo exits the audition room, and that’s Sungyeol’s signal to enter. “Break a leg,” Myungsoo says, looking pleased with his performance, and Sungyeol just nods, putting on a smile to please the two important people in the room and to cover his nerves.

::::

The door opens, and Sungyeol nods to Hoya and leaves, striding off quickly on long legs.

“Good luck, Hoya!” Dongwoo says. It’ll be his turn once Hoya is done, so he’s waiting outside.

“You’re supposed to say break a leg, do you want me to bomb this or something?”

“Break a leg’s just not my style, I guess.” Dongwoo laughs wildly, but Hoya doesn’t get the joke.

Silence fills the audition room. Hoya’s used to this kind of silence. He’s come to almost crave it, the quietude after the music ends and the expectancy before it begins. Like now. The pianist, Jongwan, strikes the opening chords, and Hoya steps forward from fifth position.

He thinks he performs it the best he can, flying through the cabrioles and pulling off the triple pirouettes at the end with ease. He holds the last pose for the requisite five seconds, then moves his eyeline to his judges.

He is met with blank stares from the artistic director and the choreographer. He tries to read their expressions for some sense of disapproval or encouragement but finds nothing. Their poker faces are immaculate.

“Again.”

So Hoya goes and does it, trying to keep the same accuracy as earlier. One of the triples becomes a double during this round, but otherwise he thinks it’s reflective of his abilities.

The director crosses her arms across her chest. She’s a nice person, in Hoya’s experience, but her presence projects a certain gravity and sternness. All students meet with her at some point, and Hoya always comes away with a deep respect for her procedure. Not to mention her reputation precedes her; she was one of the most famous dancers internationally when she was younger and is a formidable name to this day. Hoya has to work to not be intimidated by her. The guest choreographer, whose name briefly eclipses Hoya in his current state but whose repertoire he remembers, also has an illustrious list of successful ballets to her name and is known for having a strong personality.

“Do it with more feeling,” the director says, after silently conferring with the choreographer.

Hoya blinks at the request. He has absolutely no idea what she’s getting at, what she wants him to portray, so while he’d rather not ask a question and reveal potential ignorance, he has to go for it. “What kind of feeling would you like?”

She smiles. “Dance it the way that _you_ feel it.”

Hoya feels confused, but he tries to execute the combination with more energy this time, feeling power from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. They thank him, but as he exits the room, his stomach turns over a few times.

It could be hunger, he reassures himself. He unwraps a granola bar for a snack, feeling somehow relaxed. He knows he should be more concerned that he might have just blown the audition, but instead his legs feel lighter, his eyes clearer. He takes a bite of the granola bar, wincing as he chews through the peanut butter since apparently this bar is a few months old. He questions whether his dazed state means that he’s still dreaming and realizes, rubbing the bridge of his nose, that he’s definitely awake. So, keep moving. Onto the next. No time to think.

Hoya is slated to audition second for the comedic role. He arrives early to stretch; he did stretch in the morning, but it’s good logic to warm up again before every audition. Even if this role is one he’s nearly positive he won’t get.

“Are you after me then?” Sungjong asks, already waiting outside the room. He looks pristine and chic this fair morning, even though he’s in the same white fitted shirt and black tights as all of them, and he’s wide awake in the face, long eyelashes curving upwards.

“Mmhm. You’re first?”

“Yeah.”

There is a brief pause. Hoya isn’t used to these types of casual conversations. His tongue fishes part of the granola bar out from his back molars.

“Did it go well this morning?” Sungjong asks, immune to awkwardness.

“It was okay,” Hoya says, his gut clenching like he’s just told a lie. He can feel his newborn calmness starting to leave, throat swallowing absently.

As if he knows, Sungjong says, “Don’t worry. You’re clearly a shoo-in for the part.”

Hoya stares at him, surprised. They probably haven’t spoken more than once a month for the past few years, during which Hoya rarely spared a thought for Sungjong. Even if it’s not true, it’s a kind gesture. “Thanks.”

“Who do you think will have the female leads?”

Hoya hadn’t even thought about that. It’s kind of the perfect question to ask, since it’s something non-stressful that they’re all interested in. “I dunno. Krystal, maybe?” Krystal’s been partnered with Hoya in a lot of past shows, and he likes working with her; they have a lot in common. She’s kind of quiet and she has a deep sense of concentration when she’s working, so sometimes others think she’s bored or complacent, but Hoya knows how to read her and he appreciates her drive. Krystal for the lead is probably wishful thinking, though, since there are others who fit the specific parts better.

Sungjong’s already shaking his head. “No, the girls think that Victoria will be the Enchantress and Luna or Yoona for Princess is likely. I’m friends with a lot of them.”

“Yoona?” Hoya prefers Luna’s dancing to Yoona’s, though of course everyone at the academy is incredibly skilled.

“Yes, because of her image.”

Hoya hadn’t thought about that either: image as a factor in consideration. Not consciously, at least; for example, he knows he has little to no chance at snagging the comic role of the Jester. His face just isn’t right for a comic role, nor is his temperament no matter how hard he tries to chameleon himself into different personas. But he hadn’t thought much about how it might affect the other castings, as well.

Losing interest after Hoya fails to respond within a reasonable amount of time, Sungjong raises his eyebrows at the clock and says, “Please be quiet now so I can compose myself.” There’s that icy reserve that Sungjong is famous for, but now that Hoya has been exposed to it firsthand he doesn’t find it chilling at all. In fact, Hoya can’t remember the last time he had this many conversations with people other than Dongwoo; Sungyeol last night, and Sungjong today. They’re not altogether unpleasant, but neither are they familiar, and he keeps finding himself at a quick loss for words.

::::

Somehow, the next day Sungyeol finds himself pacing back and forth in the room. The cast will be announced soon. Both his auditions had gone well enough, and they’d smiled at him some, but he knows he doesn’t compare to Dongwoo or Hoya or even Woohyun. So he shouldn’t be nervous if he has no chance. His damn hope just gets in the way of his potential happiness.

Sungyeol hates how the posting of cast list is an event. As if auditions weren’t bad enough. The waiting game is worse than the audition anticipation, and he and his yearmates have been players with no repose for the last 24 hours. He almost just asks Myungsoo if, once the list is up, he’ll text him what parts they get. It’s the corps, nothing special, Sungyeol knows he’s in the corps but it’s easier to take the news alone than in front of everyone. He expects it since he’s gotten corps in every show as long as he can remember, apart from that one time they threw him the understudy to some minor lead as a consolation, knowing that the understudy never performs. (Well, almost never. And that had been worse torture than the corps: when they did the requisite understudy dress rehearsal, Sungyeol had seen in everyone’s eyes just how much they wanted Dongwoo back. Even if it was in seventh grade and they were dancing mushrooms.)

His year will be some of the youngest dancers in the performance, which means they’ll be some of the youngest ones clamoring to see the call sheet. He doesn’t know why they don’t put it online- scratch that, he does know why they don’t put it online, and it’s because the whole public rigmarole is part of their constant training.

And he desperately does want to know as soon as it’s posted, so he forces himself down the stairs to the blue room, aptly named as its walls and couches are a dark blue, and which functions in theory as a sort of hangout space for students of all years, but which really is used by only the official company members in between shows and only company plus other cast members when a show is going on. It’s a simple room with old company posters on the wall and photos of a few past and present teachers, the artistic director being the most famous of them all. The blue room is the most crowded in December, when the Nutcracker happens; kids as young as six and seven perform in the opening scene and in the Land of Sweets in the second act, so the room gets flooded to the brim by people ranging in age from pre-pubescent child to postmenopausal adult.

Currently the room’s full of professional adults from the company and then Sungyeol’s class, who are all trying to seem mature and not bite their nails like kids. They clear a path for the assistant carrying the fateful list, but as soon as it’s posted they swarm. Sungyeol holds back for a few moments, noticing others’ reactions without meaning to. He sees Dongwoo’s face light up like the sun when he looks, and a younger company member who graduated from the academy a few years ago looks disappointed but tries to hide his reaction. When there’s a space at the wall, Sungyeol walks up to take his look.

He trails down the list until he finds his name, gasps, and he bolts. He doesn’t really see where he’s going, up the stairs and more stairs and overall kind of blundering around and fortuitously not faceplanting into anything. His feet thud on the ground, the vibrations traveling up his legs. He might be passing by other students, but his eyes don’t focus and the walls blur past his peripheral vision. His breath rises fast in his lungs, which are working at maximum capacity he’s sure, just to contain his emotion. His legs carry him everywhere at once, until he finds a place he knows, where he presses his back into the cold wall and slowly slides to a sitting position.

Sungyeol takes a deep breath.

It all hits him in a rush, joy zipping up his spine, better than blowing out all the candles at once on his birthday, better than the bang and crash of fireworks shooting off all over the sky on holidays, better than the grande finale or the applause or the encore. He’d seen his name on there, checked it, double-checked it again, that they hadn’t been mistaken when they gave him a part-- Not just a part, but the best part. The Prince. Part of him already questions why and if he deserves it, but he doesn’t have to listen to that voice today, not right now, maybe not for a long while. It’s the first time he’s won, it’s solid proof that he’s not a failure, something that won’t just disappear from his mind like a fleeting feeling, and more than that it’s a verifiable success, one of the first ones he’s had here. He presses his hands to his face and comes away with palms wet, kind of embarrassed to realize he’s crying since he thought he ditched that habit ages ago. He just keeps sobbing, his chest convulsing and heaving like he’s throwing up or something dire when really he just can barely believe his own life.

He’s the Prince. It was his name.

He is totally calling his mom tonight.

Thinking about his mom just makes him cry more. She’ll be so proud, but then she’s always been proud of him, but this time it’s different because he’s finally given her something tangible that justifies her pride and her confidence in him.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there just basking in his own cooling sweat. Eventually his phone rings and he slides his tears across his cheek so he can read the screen.

Caller name: Myungsoo. Accept/Decline?

“Nngh?” Sungyeol coughs up phlegm and manages a more dignified greeting. “Yeah?”

“You okay? Where’d you go so fast?”

Sungyeol slowly takes notice of his surroundings. “I’m in the common bathroom. In the handicapped stall.” He unrolls some toilet paper, cheap 2-ply stuff, and blows his nose.

To Myungsoo’s credit, all he says is, “Okay, see you there.” He turns up not five minutes later, slipping into a cross-legged position on the tiled floor next to Sungyeol like it’s the natural thing to do. Sungyeol doesn’t ask about Myungsoo’s role right away, figuring it would be insensitive after he landed the lead, planning to talk to him about it later. Instead, Myungsoo reports the relevant part of the list that Sungyeol didn’t read.

“Dongwoo for Jester with Sungjong as understudy. Victoria and Yoona for the girls.”

That makes sense. Dongwoo will be amazing with that role, and he supposes Sungjong is theatrical enough to pull it off if need be (there won’t be a need, though). And wow, the chance to dance with Victoria and Yoona. He’s partnered with Victoria before, and though he thinks she’s a lot better than he is, she definitely made him work harder. She’s known for being exceptionally flexible, even for a dancer. Yeah he’ll have to seriously work. Along this line of thought, a certain idea starts to plant itself in his mind, something about casting, but he ignores it for now, because it pops into his head to ask, “Who’s my understudy?” _My_ _understudy_. Sungyeol has probably never thought those two words in succession before. _My_ , possessive; _understudy_ , an alternate who learns all of the same choreography in case the lead gets sick or otherwise has to be replaced, which never happens. Okay basically never…

Myungsoo presses his lips together but the ends curve up in a smile despite his attempt to hide it. “Yeol. It’s me.”

“What??”

“I have the Prince understudy. Maybe they liked my acting or something.” Myungsoo licks his lips. “It’s because of you.”

Sungyeol spontaneously throws his arms around Myungsoo, an unusual gesture for him, but he just wants to overwhelm everything with happiness right now: Myungsoo, the world, the toilet to his right. He also considers purposefully dripping snot on Myungsoo’s shoulder but turns his head at the last second. “No, you did it yourself, don’t be dumb.” Myungsoo hangs on to the hug for longer than Sungyeol expects, though he really should expect that by now.

Myungsoo starts laughing out of nowhere when he lets go. “You looked so funny.”

“Huh?”

“When you saw the list. Like your eyes were trying to escape your head.” Myungsoo slaps his knee and snorts through his nose, a typical reaction to Sungyeol’s reactions.

Sungyeol snickers and a leftover tear dribbles out of his eye. His eyeballs are probably bloodshot as hell and he’ll have to go to class all puffy in the face. It’s worth it.

Myungsoo finally stops laughing, eyes flicking upwards like he’s suddenly remembered something. “What?” Sungyeol asks.

Myungsoo shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Well… there’s a second understudy.”

“Yeah?” He clears his throat. “Who’s that.”

“Uh.” Myungsoo coughs. “It’s Hoya.”

Sungyeol feels like he’s sinking again, a feeling that’s equal parts familiar, expectant, and worried.

Damn understudies. How is he going to keep this role.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The females in their year are f(x) + the younger half of snsd. [They are cool.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLllF2_Jji0%20%0A)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me longer than I expected, but here it is!

“Hey captain.” Woohyun slaps Hoya on the back, jocular as ever. “Ready?”

Hoya manages to greet him with a forced smile as his right leg swings up to the barre, elevating his foot up above waist level. He bends his head to touch his knee. The dinner he had not twenty minutes ago is settling into his stomach. He’s had a few days for the casting decision to sink in, and he’s still trying to be okay about it. It’s not Woohyun’s fault that he’s stuck with Hoya as a truculent colleague, so Hoya tries his best to make pleasant conversation in the few minutes before the first rehearsal begins. 

They’re the two dance captains, the highest position that remains once you’ve missed out on the leads (and they have). Dance captains are in charge of learning all of the choreography, not just their own but everyone’s, which is no small feat in itself, and also leading the corps: basically the chorus of a musical, but for ballet. They’re kind of like the ‘swings’ of musical theatre. As opposed to the solo roles, which require a lot of work alone and with a duet partner, dance captain is essentially a leadership role. Hoya’s never had it before, only solos, probably because he’s essentially a loner. Woohyun’s been captain a lot, though, and Dongwoo as well. 

He lifts his right leg off the barre gently and moves his left leg up, inclining his arms and torso over his leg, feeling the stretch in his lower back as he grabs onto his foot. Learning all the choreography entails memorizing the positioning and steps of every male in the chorus; he and Woohyun are responsible for knowing all formations and combinations by heart at all times. They ensure that the company has the mechanics down pat so the director and the choreographer can come back in and work with the artistry or mold them to a certain vision without wasting much time on simple corrections. So they can never zone out for even a second. Dance captains keep the corps on track and run practice after the choreography is learned. In this case, it means that Hoya and Woohyun are in charge of Sunggyu, Sungjong, Myungsoo, and the three guys who got cast from the year below. 

From listening to Dongwoo talk about it, it’s an exhausting position because of the intense obligation; if something goes wrong, the dance captains take responsibility (in addition to the person who made a mistake). It’s a rung up on the ladder, but since it’s nowhere near the top it gets stepped on a lot. Dongwoo frequently just collapsed after five-hour practices where he had spent the entire time doing his own part and answering any and all questions that came his way. Keeping track of small details is harder for Dongwoo than for Hoya, though, so Hoya has really no idea how much stress this will exact. 

The three new guys introduce themselves, holding excitement in their faces and postures. 

“I’m Minhyuk,” says the one who reminds him of a squirrel in his cheeks and pointed nose. 

“Ilhoon,” says strange eyes.

“I’m Peniel,” says Peniel. Hoya already knows Peniel. Woohyun has everyone else introduce themselves, too, and Hoya avoids eye contact with Myungsoo, who he knows is Sungyeol’s good friend. 

Ilhoon, Peniel and Minhyuk were cast in order to have equal numbers of partners for the girls. Since there are ten girls and seven boys in Hoya’s year, three boys were cast from the year below, in a competition that was probably as fierce for them as the fight for the leads was in Hoya’s year. So Hoya has them to deal with as well, and it’ll be a challenge to determine their personality types and dancing styles as fast as possible. 

The choreographer bustles into the room and Hoya snaps to attention. He quickly finds that she has a fiery personality, the type of teacher who won’t think to yell if they get it wrong twice in a row or to demand they run through something for a quarter-hour without stopping, and much as he appreciates her directness, it requires his full attention and then some. The dance itself is fast and precise, and his muscles strain to keep up.

Hoya has to force himself to think spatially, imagining their formations from above like an airplane pilot trying to land. This will all become much more complicated when they start having rehearsals with the girls and doing partnering work—though then he’ll have the help of the other dance captain, Krystal. 

Feeling the ache in his body and mind leaves him distracted enough from his emotions that he feels secure. It helps, too, that Sungyeol won’t be coming to these choreo rehearsals at first, since the Prince isn’t in all of the large group scenes. Unfortunately, neither is the Jester, so Hoya is also without Dongwoo’s support and guidance. Hoya stares in the mirror, drawing maps in his head of their formations so he can remember precisely for later. Sungjong’s on the left here, and then he crosses with Sunggyu, and Peniel switches with Ilhoon. And that’s all in the first five seconds. 

The choreographer leaves once they have a rough working model of the dance, since her time is highly sought after and she has to go teach the company now. They’re sweating up a storm, and they’re supposed to go over what she just taught, but once she leaves, they all visibly relax, one less person to impress in the room. 

They have a long ways to go before they’ll be prepared for the next practice. So Hoya says in his best voice of command, “Okay, everyone listen up.” And they’re not paying attention. 

Minhyuk is demonstrating some unrelated dance moves to Peniel and Ilhoon, Myungsoo is zoning out sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Sungjong is texting on his phone

Even Woohyun is just talking to Sunggyu in a corner. 

“Woohyun,” Hoya says. 

Sunggyu gives Hoya a long-suffering look, but he shrugs and Woohyun comes over to Hoya. “Yeah?”

“They said to practice, and everyone’s just messing around.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Shouldn’t we do something?”

Woohyun looks surprised. “Sure Hoya, I’ll do it in a second.” Frustrated, Hoya says, “But we have to do it now.”

“Fine, fine.” Moving slower than Hoya would like, Woohyun goes from person to person, chatting with each of them, and as if by magic, their faces brighten and they assemble at their proper places in the center.

“Wow,” Hoya says. “Nice crowd control.” Woohyun laughs like Hoya’s actually said something funny, which Hoya appreciates.

“Two, three, four…” 

:::

“Thank you,” Woohyun says to the accompanist at the end of the lesson, immaculately polite. Jongwan nods and leaves, so it’s just Woohyun and Hoya, which makes Woohyun’s next question redundant: “Hoya, stay for a second?”

“Yeah. What is it?” Hoya stuffs his ballet shoes into his purple duffel bag. 

“Just earlier… everyone just wanted to rest for a few minutes, that’s all. It’s a long practice. They weren’t disobeying you or anything.”

That makes sense in retrospect, even if it’s still not what he’d prefer. “Oh. Thanks for telling me.”

“Resting gives you more energy for later times, anyways.”

Hoya shrugs. “Maybe for some people.”

“You got a problem?”

Hoya has never seen Woohyun look so serious, face etched in stone like a young god. 

“I’m honestly asking. Do you have a problem?”

Hoya crosses his arms. 

“Come on. Is it because of casting?”

Hoya shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I mean, you’re grouchy, but today was just over the top.” Woohyun takes a shot in the dark. “Something at home?”

Hearing the word ‘home’ feels like a punch to the gut. 

He’d had so many dumb thoughts. 

Perhaps his family would want him back, despite his dancing and despite who he is, if he had danced the lead at his graduating performance. The chances were low, and with the arrival of the pale blue cast list they had dropped to sub-zero. Understudy is a consolation, and second understudy to boot is like a third place prize. At first Hoya had thought it was a deliberate snub, being ranked after Myungsoo. 

Instead of talking to his family, Hoya had dreamt of them last night, and he’s left with only shards of imagination combined with real memories. He recalls vague sensations of a cooling hand patting his back, screams of childish laughter, musty smells that he can’t re-imagine as anything but his home. He wakes up and half-expected his brother to still be blowing on his face as a prank, before remembering that his siblings aren’t allowed to talk to him anymore and they have to sneak around their parents in order to make even minimal contact (a Christmas card, a public call from a prepaid phone card). 

Offhand, Woohyun mentions, “I wanted the comic role. You’re not the only one.” Hoya isn’t sure if his distress reaches to his face, but Woohyun continues talking as if nothing shows, so Hoya guesses it hasn’t. 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Well, you don’t seem like a gossip mill,” Woohyun jokes, before continuing, “Yeah, I like to make audiences laugh.” He smiles, shaking his head. “But Dongwoo is obviously better than I am. I didn’t even get the understudy.”

“I don’t understand why not, though,” Hoya says. He ranks Woohyun third personally, just after Dongwoo and himself. 

“That’s because you don’t talk to Sungjong. But not even a second understudy? It’s like they’re telling me, Woohyun,” and he brandishes a finger at himself in the mirror, “You’re good for chorus roles and your leadership is pretty alright, but don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Hoya makes a disgruntled face. “I hope that’s not what it means.” 

Woohyun keeps staring at himself in the mirror. He tilts his head to the side carefully and regards himself with wariness, and his serious face returns, mesmerized by his reflection. 

Hoya doesn’t even know Woohyun, doesn’t know anything about him, and yet he has the desire to say something that will make him look away. He eventually comes up with, “I hadn’t really thought about the audience thing. I just think about how much I want to dance.”

Woohyun startles and looks away from the mirror. “You always have to think about your audience. You’re a performer. Who, or what else are you here for?” 

Hoya had never thought of it that way, and he momentarily feels stupid. “I dunno, maybe I’ll go to college,” he jokes, and they both have to laugh. The invocation of college, or university, is a running joke around the school. Applying to college means you’ve given up your prime years as a dancer. College means you’re probably ending your dance career before it began. Few dancers go to college and come out still dancers. It’s possible, sure, but there’s no way Hoya would risk his career on those odds. 

“Hoya, I’m going to give you some advice.”

“Hmm?”

“Just stay cool, ok?”

:::

In his room, Sungyeol’s rushing to meet Myungsoo before the first Prince rehearsal. He pulls on a new-ish pair of black tights, dragging them up over his white shirt and using the dance belt he’s wearing to secure the tights around his waist. He secures a red sweatband around his forehead, since he doesn’t need stray hairs or sweat getting in his eyes. His shoes go in his bag, alongside energy bars and a flask of coffee. 

He gets there not long after he’d promised, with some time to stretch. Myungsoo raises his hand to greet him. He’s got his own sweatband. Sungyeol has never met a person who sweats more than Myungsoo, who likely loses several gallons a day. 

“You didn’t come to English today,” Myungsoo says. 

“Yeah I figured I deserved an off.”

“I wanted to ask you about the homework, though…”

“Ok, so ask me?”

Myungsoo twists his mouth to one side. “I don’t have my books here.”

“Maybe later then.” Sungyeol feels guilty knowing full well they won’t have time later. He misses hanging out with Myungsoo already, but he’s not going to have as much time now.

Myungsoo sighs. “Group was good.”

“Yeah?”

“Except everyone’s better than I am. Even the ones that aren’t even in our class.” 

“That’s probably not true,” Sungyeol says. Then he pauses. “Is it?”

“I’m just so tired.” 

Sungyeol nudges him playfully. “You’re always tired.”

“Yeah…” Then Myungsoo says abruptly, “What if I suck?”

“I suck, you suck. Whatever, I’ll suck more. So what if you suck, we both just have to suck up our suckiness.” If only he could take his own advice. It’s fifteen minutes before Sungyeol’s first solo rehearsal as the Prince and he’s thought up fifty ways he could embarrass himself already. As an understudy, Myungsoo will participate in the rehearsal and learn all the choreo Sungyeol does, so it makes sense that he’s worried as well. 

Myungsoo ignores Sungyeol’s half-assed attempt at wordplay and addresses the other unspoken worry. “Hoya was fine at rehearsal earlier.” 

“He wasn’t pissed?”

Myungsoo considers the question. “Well…” 

Sungyeol presses the heel of his palm to his left eye, saying, “Doomed.”

Myungsoo just says, “I’m stressed about school.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have an art project due soon, and I’m working with Zico and he’s really good. I’m not doing well in English. Or in—”

“So I’ll write your next essay for you.” Myungsoo opens his mouth to argue, but at that choice moment Hoya enters and like hell if Sungyeol wants him to overhear anything. So they both fall silent, greeting Hoya superficially.

“Hey,” Hoya says. He seems relaxed, for being Hoya, holding too much tension in his neck. 

The choreographer breezes in, wearing simple black leggings and a sweatshirt, her hair in a high ponytail.

“Hi, glad you’re here, let’s get to work!” She rattles off a quick warmup combination. “Got it?”

Sungyeol had psyched himself up for a blowup confrontation with Hoya, so it’s almost disappointing when it doesn’t come. In fact, Hoya spares no second glances for Sungyeol, only watching himself and the choreographer in the mirror. 

Getting into the meat of the choreo, Sungyeol relaxes into an arabesque. The choreographer loves the long lines made from his fingertips out to his pointed feet (bless his height for something). Myungsoo receives a few corrections, and she briefly compliments Hoya on his form. Sungyeol’s heart briefly drops, but he holds his head high. 

Clapping her hands to the beat of the music, she says, “Turn, turn, turn, turn, down.” Hoya and Sungyeol plie neatly in fifth position, but Myungsoo stumbles out of the turn. 

“You have to spot,” Sungyeol says. 

“I am, it’s just not working,” Myungsoo hisses. Hoya actually offers a few helpful tips and Myungsoo’s next turns are better, if not completely consistent. Sungyeol wonders what prompted his advice.

He’d basically psyched himself out, thinking he could never handle what they were going to throw at him, but as he goes through the assigned steps, he starts to think he can do it. If he remembers to point, his feet work just as well as anyone else’s, even if they’re not as arched as Sungjong’s or as perfect as Hoya’s; if he remembers to think, his head tilts to look past the inside of his elbow when his leg raises to ecarte devant. 

There’s the trouble of getting his body to remember what his mind already knows, though.

It’s clear that Hoya does learn better than either Myungsoo or Sungyeol, and some people might say that Hoya also does it better, but Sungyeol’s starting to see why he wasn’t picked. Sungyeol learns a dance like a story, and he think that Hoya learns it as a set of moves, and it shows. Once Sungyeol actually remembers the moves deep in his body, he thinks that maybe—possibly—he might look better, inspire more audiences. 

Though he still has no idea why Myungsoo is the understudy, not that he would ever in a million years articulate that to Myungsoo, and not that any of those epiphanies make the dance easier to learn. They barely make it through 30 completed seconds of non-stop choreography in the hour before the choreographer has to leave, instructing them to continue their practice until they all are solid. They all nod, and Hoya seems serious about it. 

So Sungyeol doesn’t expect the confrontation that comes next. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not going to practice with you.” Hoya shoves his ballet shoes into his bag. 

“What?”

“Not practicing with you. Doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean ‘doesn’t make sense.’” Sungyeol feels his cheeks start to burn. 

“I need that time to go over my dance captain stuff.”

“Are you serious?” Sungyeol asks. “You literally just promised.”

“Except I already know it, what I don’t have down are the parts of the seven other corps members that I learned today, and which I am responsible for as dance captain in addition to understudying you.”

Sungyeol won’t give up. “OK, so you can run through those parts in the breaks while Myungsoo and I run the solo parts for memory, since you’ve got it.”

“No, that won’t work, you’ll just distract me.” Hoya presses his fist to his forehead. 

Sungyeol’s face shuts down and he throws his long arms down to his sides. “Care to explain?”

Hoya does. “I’m overloaded. Normally dance captain is itself a full-time position, and unrewarding. Then understudying the lead is another thankless position, and second string understudy is never going to get the lead, so it’s also pointless. I’m never going to perform this role, but meanwhile I do have to coach a group of ten people every day up to the show. I can’t do extra practice with you, it just won’t work.”

Sungyeol has never heard Hoya speak so many words before, and he finds it a majorly unpleasant first experience. 

“You can’t ditch one of your jobs just ‘cause you have more responsibilities.”

“I’m not even the first understudy, I’m the second. You’d both have to break your legs for me to ever go on.”

In a corner, Myungsoo finally reacts, shaking his head slightly as he stares at the ground. Other than that he hasn’t moved. Sungyeol feels bad that his friend has to watch this argument, but that just intensifies his building anger. 

“Is that a threat??”

Hoya snorts. “No.” Then he challenges Sungyeol: “Do you want it to be?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t seem like you want it.”

“Oh, and what would ‘want’ entail? Renting out practice rooms just so others can’t use them?”

“Are you seriously bringing that up now? That was a rumor a few years ago, it was an accident and I did get in trouble for it—”

“Everyone loves you, you’ll be fine whether you practice or not—”

“Well clearly they don’t favor me enough if I can’t get any roles!”

“Have I ever had a role before? It’s gotta be a joke, someone playing a joke on me.” Sungyeol despairs, wondering once again what the artistic director and choreographer even see in him, that they gave him this role over Hoya, who has all the accomplishments in the world under his belt. 

“That’s what I mean, why don’t you just shut up and do the damn thing instead of fucking whining-”

“Wanting something doesn’t mean shutting everything else out of your life!”

“No, but it does mean making some room for it!” Hoya glares into Sungyeol’s eyes. 

Sungyeol’s mouth falls open. He has never wished for someone to just get out of his way more. He shouts, “You don’t need the extra shitting time to do your captain shit, you’re Hoya!” Hoya has everything he needs to make it, perfect feet, intimidating discipline, stellar technique, and even his utter pigheadedness translates to great ambition. In comparison, what does Sungyeol have?

Hoya’s mouth ends up going sideways and his forehead crinkles and he looks like a person in a funhouse, crooked and slanted. And Sungyeol has no idea what that means.

Sungyeol tries to stop himself as soon as he laughs, because he’s pretty fucking angry, but instead he ends up making a weird face himself. He decides the best strategy is to shout even louder, and he begins to draw in a breath so he can go on one of his world-famous rants, too many thoughts spiraling around at once.

“Would it kill you to do something for someone else for once!” Sungyeol pauses for a second, feeling a brief twinge of guilt that he successfully brushes off. “Dance is a team—”

There’s a knock on the door. Sungyeol sees Sungjong’s head in the door window, groans, and lets him in, his anger diffusing already as he opens the door to see Sungjong’s features made severe with annoyance, jaw jutting out. 

“I’m practicing next door. And I will pay you. In cash. Right now.” Sungjong says through gritted teeth. “If you all go away… and shut… UP.”

Sungjong seems to be running into them a lot lately, but then again, they do all live in the same fishbowl of a school. 

“If you’re practicing, then why aren’t you wearing your ballet shoes?” Hoya is in an arguing mood, apparently. 

Sungyeol’s gaze shifts to Sungjong’s bare feet. It’s true, Sungjong is wearing their normal practice attire, minus the shoes, but there’s basically a million reasons he wouldn’t have them on right now, so it’s a cheap shot. Sungjong, naturally, balks at such a stupid question, and he looks like he’s gearing up for an argument himself, when Myungsoo interjects. 

“Sungyeol, I have to study anyways,” Myungsoo says. Sungyeol looks aghast. Myungsoo whispers to him, and Sungyeol’s shoulders droop. 

“Fine. I’ll practice by myself. So if you hear any more yelling then it’s me, at myself.”

“See? It’s settled then. Thanks, Myungsoo.” Sungjong raises his chin and leaves the room like royalty. 

Sungyeol’s temper has deflated with the interruption, and he looks at the floor, already feeling dumb for how loud he’d been. 

Hoya has to get in the last word. “We can’t even talk without fighting. How did you think hours of practicing in the same box would work out.” He leaves without glancing back, and Myungsoo exits with a rueful wave, leaving Sungyeol alone with his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally here.

Hoya seethes, but seething becomes simmering, simmering becomes disgruntlement, and disgruntlement turns into resignation.

Group rehearsals are going much better, probably because he doesn’t have to deal with Sungyeol there. Woohyun keeps giving him tips on how to be a better leader, and Hoya’s acquired a great bunch of advice and improved a lot. Some of Woohyun’s tips include astonishing gems such as:

1\. Don’t yell at people more than 5% of your speaking time, and only if they really deserve it  
2\. Focus on what’s going well instead of what went wrong  
3\. Try to smile when you talk to people, fine at least don’t frown you idiot

Maybe Woohyun hadn’t said those things in so many words, but Hoya has a talent for paraphrasing. He’s actually started liking Woohyun, though before he hadn’t given him a second glance or conscious thought apart from assessing his dance ability. Woohyun has this plain, open sense of humor that supplants his easy personality, and Hoya almost feels envious of his nature as a social butterfly.

Prince rehearsals are a different story. Hoya goes through the motions like a zombie, neither his head nor his heart in the game. He and Sungyeol ignore each other decidedly, and if the choreographer ever notices, she doesn’t say anything. Hoya notes with ashamed satisfaction that if anything, Sungyeol has gotten worse. Sungyeol looks over his shoulder into the mirror twice as often, checking himself when he doesn’t need to, always watching his back. Myungsoo does fine, but he hasn’t gotten better.

He notices the choreographer and the director don’t look worried, and they simply encourage everyone to practice together. Like that will happen. He and Sungyeol glare daggers in the hallways. In English class they’re randomly assigned to be partners for a group presentation due at the end of term, and they each cite nonexistent scheduling conflicts to the teacher, who has them reassigned. Sungjong is Hoya’s new partner, and they quickly agree to not begin until the last possible minute in favor of focusing on dance. He catches a whiff of ambition from Sungjong, whom he hadn’t expected to agree so quickly to push academics to the side, but he supposes everyone has their goals.

That said, it’s still way too much to hope for that he even has a chance of doing the part. Hoya doesn’t entertain the thought. Sungyeol is honestly just paranoid. Re-castings are extremely low, especially at their amateur levels. Unless Sungyeol plain stops showing up to rehearsals, the part will remain his for now.

But if they’re in the same position the week before the show, with Sungyeol nearly falling over at times, that might call for some reconsideration.

There are only three interesting moments in class that transpire before the week is out, and each causes him to stop and reflect.

One day, Woohyun’s doing adagio to the diagonal right in front of Hoya, raising his leg above ninety degrees. His foot arcs in a perfect quarter circle to its summit and his turnout is adequately from his hips. Hoya knows now just how many months he spent on improving his ecartes, how impossible they had been at the beginning. The piano swells to the curve of Woohyun’s arms and Hoya catches his own shoulderblades shivering beneath his thin white shirt.

Hoya feels a flash of attraction lightninging through his body. His own foot clumsily bobs and loses positioning in his surprise, though he catches it before anyone notices and returns noiselessly to the ground. He continues the dance combination, mind racing with how unexpected he finds his reaction.

For a second, he thinks about his own physicality in non-dance terms. How it might feel to really kiss someone, or explore them. He has only imaginings and dreams with which to compare these wishes, and these far-fetched ideas fade away in the indoor light, in the mirrored reflection of the walls.

It’s not that Hoya hasn’t had crushes or desired anyone in the past. It’s just been so long that he forgot what it was like. And why now, in class? He’s always prided himself on maintaining total concentration, and to notice someone for their appearance isn’t normally within his purview.

Furthermore, Woohyun is maybe the opposite of the type of person Hoya thinks he would like romantically, or personality-wise, but he acknowledges his brief attraction. The moment passes as soon as it happens, though, and he returns to seeing his co-captain as a slightly goofy guy, nothing else.

The second moment is more food for thought.

In technique class, they’re practicing a closing pose: One hand on same shoulder, one arm outstretched to the heavens, with a clean white ceiling standing in. One leg tucked in back of the other, and a handsome expression. The keyword is confidence, in the particular brand of strength that ballet requires. The idea is to display their biceps and their thighs, since it’s not for nothing that they train to develop sinewy muscles.

Sungjong is the only one that isn’t getting it, which is nothing new. His style sometimes presents itself with some quality that just seems off from the rest of them, but maybe Woohyun would call it different or special. The teacher doles out predictable advice, and Hoya finds himself listening consciously for the first time.

“Sungjong, do it more like a man.”

It’s a common enough refrain, one that they’ve all heard some of their teachers say from time to time. They’re supposed to be striving to act as the ideal leading man, with panache and gusto and Hoya’s always held a certain image of what ballet manliness means in his head. This time, though, Hoya happens to have his face pointed in Sungjong’s direction, and when the teacher speaks, Sungjong flushes. Hoya catches a flash of some strong emotion on his face, but before he can identify it the look is gone. They lock eyes briefly, Hoya feeling too awkward to look away, before Sungjong blinks and the moment evaporates. Hoya wonders if he missed it at other times just because he wasn’t paying attention or if it’s something unrelated.

Hoya forgets the incident, though it is stored away in the less accessed parts of his mind, ready to easily surface in the future.

And the third interesting happening becomes the most significant.

Hoya feels more at ease giving corrections thanks to Woohyun’s advice. The new guys respond well to him, better than the ones in his own class. Sunggyu grumps a bit, but that’s usual enough. They are starting to come together, which is just in time because before they know it they’ll be paired up with the girls for the partnering scenes.

Woohyun speaks to the teacher at the end of class and then meanders over to Hoya, who’s waiting for him. They normally touch base afterwards.

“What’s up?”

“Do you want to go out on Saturday?” Woohyun says.

“What do you mean, we have practice.” Saturday is tomorrow.

“They said we could have the day off, cause we’ve been doing an awesome job.”

Hoya startles, trying not to let it show on his face. Of course Woohyun would be able to ask for time off. He, on the other hand, hasn’t had a day off in years. When other people go home to their families on breaks, he stays at school and practices, and during the summer he stays in town and works. Sometimes he has been lucky enough to be invited to Dongwoo’s. But it was too close quarters at the family home, and Dongwoo’s parents were too warm and inviting with their care. Irrationally, he’d felt himself suffocating. Hoya had never felt more like an intruder, an imposter, than when he got asked if he liked chocolate or vanilla ice cream better for dessert.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Relax!”

Hoya snaps back to the dance practice room and feels the weight of his tired feet. “Okay,” he foolishly agrees before realizing what he’s saying.

“Of course! I’ll text you.” Woohyun pals out the door with Sunggyu.

Hoya considers what he’s gotten himself into while power-walking to beat the dinner rush.

 

***

 

Sungyeol reclines on his bed, spreading his aching limbs every which way. His head is aligned with Myungsoo’s feet. His feet smell but Sungyeol is too lazy to move.

“Hey,” he asks. “Wanna go practice soon?” They have an evening solo rehearsal later, and he wants to be prepared. From his own lying down position, Myungsoo grunts sure, absorbed in the novel he’s reading for class, and Sungyeol is pretty sure he didn’t even hear the question.

Sungyeol’s supposed to be studying too, but he got bored awhile back and is now browsing the dance forums, reading what a bunch of internet trolls have to say about one school versus another. He can’t make up his damn mind about what he wants for “his Future,” bobbling back and forth over different options and agonizing over applications and auditions. It’s a fear that overtakes him more frequently than he has time to deal with and yet it almost paralyzes him with doubt.

He’s in the running with everyone else for dance companies, and he’s satisfied with that decision, but he fantasizes about other career paths just for fun, though he is certain of being utterly unsuited for things like medicine, or teaching, or whatever other adult occupations exist that require more school. A lot of careers sound like fun, but when he researches them they all sound boring as hell; where’s the excitement, the stress, the emotion? And all the work to get there can take years, sometimes decades to rise to the top. He can barely handle monotony in class as it stands now. He ponders college, he assumes they all do, but never seriously, remembering that school is endlessly mindless and the inevitable 9 to 5 desk job sounds like torture. Higher education is something for people who haven’t trained their entire lives to be dancers.

Though it’s hard to avoid the inevitability of a dance career’s sudden death at the age of 30 or something.

Luckily, his phone rings and saves him from further unsatisfying navel-contemplation.

Five minutes later, he’s barrelling out the door in a nice shirt and pants that he is 99 percent sure he washed in the last few weeks, jamming his feet into his sneakers.

“Surprise!”

Mom and Daeyeol are at the entrance of the school, waving maniacally like a couple of people who obviously want to embarrass him in public. He hugs them both anyways, trying to squeeze all the new handsomeness out of his brother, who definitely got taller since he last saw him over the break. He hugs his mom with more fragility, since she seems to be getting shorter over time.

“We’re spending the night in town, just because.”

“Dad can’t come til later, but he says hi.”

They all sport grand matching smiles on the way to Sungyeol’s favorite nearby restaurant, thankfully within walking distance. He’d invited Myungsoo, who had regretfully declined in favor of studying but passed along his greetings.

So maybe he had been feeling lonely. His mom probably found out through long-distance telepathy, or maybe she knows him better than he knows himself because he had no idea he felt alone until his family came and he isn’t anymore. He’s fine with admitting it now since it’s after the fact, his family is here and they are paying for his food and acting like he’s the most precious teenager in the world even though he knows he hardly compares.

It’s an easygoing family restaurant and he orders the same thing he always gets, a cheeseburger and fries, which will do wonders for his cholesterol. Daeyeol has fallen out of the younger-sibling idolatry stage of copying him and orders something he’ll actually like and finish. He tries his best to talk his mom out of a salad, joking around about having the money to provide for her now that he’s a star. He wishes he did, but on this career path he’ll be lucky if he can just support himself when and if he gets a job at a company.

In turn, his mom pretends to be shocked when he describes his grueling practice schedule. It’s nothing he hasn’t told her before, hence the pretending, since she knows well the lugubrious hours of practice that go into every show and she’ll always worry about his health. It still makes him feel better about his meager life to see his family’s reactions firsthand and have the enormous amount of work he puts in validated by outside people. Inside the dance “bubble,” as they call it, they lack a firm grasp on how much objective labor they do; to outsiders like his mom and brother, it seems hardcore. Who doesn’t like to be seen as hardcore?

When he counts it out for them, even he’s surprised by how much time and energy he’s been giving. They exclaim about his dark eye-circles and his thinness (“I blame my genetics,” he says, and Daeyeol side-punches him) and flatter him unnecessarily and overall pull him out of his mood with as much skill as a pair of top-notch surgeons. Mom refuses to let him have coffee, not that he was serious about ordering it anyways.

His connection to the outside world is reaffirmed, and he gorges himself on the food and conversational mundaneness. His brother’s doing well at school and trying out for sports, and his mom and dad have picked up a new popular mystery TV program that Sungyeol thinks he would have already known about if he had a life.

They are so themselves, and he feels so much himself around them.

It’s not until the end of the night that shit gets real. His mom wants to come by his rehearsal later and sit in. He sees the excitement in his eyes and fear sparks through him like a needle.

He’s not good enough yet. It’ll be disappointing, boring. Hoya will show him up. Is this why his family are paying for dance school, only for him to keep messing it all up? He voices none of these concerns.

“I don’t know if the teacher will allow it,” he mumbles. That is an obvious lie. They won’t care as long as they’re not disruptive, but he feels a desperate need to not show his mom the pile of chaos and insecurity that is his role.

“If that’s her decision, then of course I won’t mind. But maybe if I speak with her she’ll understand?”

He agrees, realizing there’s no way to prevent it. He offers her a smile and starts to panic.

 

:::

 

Today is a day where he can only make mistakes. His turnout is bad, his expression is blank out of anxiety, and his feet tangle.

It’s embarrassing that his parents don’t even realize how bad he is. They are sitting on chairs in the corner, and of course everyone is overjoyed to have them here, except him. His skin prickles uncomfortably just knowing they’re watching, and his petrifying fear of making mistakes, losing the part, disappointing them expands. He sees them in the mirror wherever he looks and they pull him off balance.

Sungyeol bends his knees and pushes off the ground too hard, and he spins too fast, not properly centered on the ball of his foot or in time with the rhythm of the music.

He falters. He hits the floor. He falls healthily like a dancer, pushing out his palms to the ground to catch himself and avoiding landing on his kneecaps, but he falls nonetheless.

He stares at the greyish expanse of flooring between his hands, unable to believe he just fell in front of everyone.

He can tell his dad barely restrains himself from checking if he’s okay, but his whole family has seen him fall way harder on so many occasions. From the time he was little he would stand in socked feet on their tiled kitchen floor and push off, rotating out of control and destroying more than his fair share of household objects with his helicopter arms. He has fallen and scraped his knees, his elbows, and his neck.

This time, it didn’t hurt his body so much as his pride. And what pride? Everyone in this room has seen him fail before, and it’s just going to happen again.

The little riffs of airy string instruments continue to float in the air, and he realizes the choreographer wants him to continue, there’s no stopping in this business. Hoya and Myungsoo apparently never faltered and are moving their bodies in and out of serpentine patterns.

He decides to pick himself up and join them, and his parents smile encouragingly. He drinks in their support and squares his shoulders off, preparing to join the next sequence of turns.

It’s uncomfortable, and his chest feels etched with shame, but he glances over at them and a rush of determination descends, making his movements more deliberate. Despite his flaming face and upset pride, he thinks about how far he has come since he left home, and he straightens his posture.

Sungyeol feels the movements more deeply in his bones, shifting his weight as he speeds into the same turn. He forgets about Hoya and Myungsoo and the choreography that he’s disappointed again and again, and he clings to the joy of having his family in the room. The prickling of his skin subsides.

He doesn’t make any magic, but he pulls it off better than he can remember since his audition. The melding of his body with musical strains feels more complete and instinctual--and it should, with all the hours of practice. By the end of the rehearsal he’s more free of care, which leads to a better relaxation into the steps when it comes his turn to perform individually. At times he thinks he feels Hoya’s judgemental glare on his back, but he shrugs it off until the music ends. It ends and he vindictively searches for Hoya in the mirror, wanting to convey his small triumph to his rival.

But Sungyeol glances into the mirror and is greeted with a surprise. Hoya isn’t staring at him; he’s staring at Sungyeol’s family, and his gaze is unwavering. And so Sungyeol curiously intercepts Hoya’s eyeline, but before he can parse the myriad nuances of his unfamiliar, blocked expression, Hoya jerks away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here

Sungyeol knocks on Myungsoo’s door on his way to lunch, but there’s no answer, and Sungyeol kind of hopes he’s taking a nap. That guy has been doing way too much responsible studying lately for someone who isn’t even going to college. He even slept in for one of their rehearsals; half an hour, yeah, but even five minutes will get you reprimanded strongly and sure enough, Myungsoo had gotten in major trouble. He’d even had to go meet with the Director, which reminds Sungyeol that their midterm reviews are coming up, but he pushes that thought away for now. Anyways, for someone who needs decidedly more sleep than the average person, Myungsoo sure gets an awful lot less.

He stocks his tray with some bleh boring nutritious food, looking forward to going out with his family again later after class finishes. Browsing around the wide open commons, he can’t locate Woohyun, who is normally the second choice of person he goes to for company when Myungsoo isn’t at meals. Seized with sudden anxiety, he quickly strides over to the people he knows third-best: Sungjong and Dongwoo, who are seated at a table with some girls in their year. They all seem very pleased about something, which is an odd occurrence in groups at their school. There’s always one person falling asleep in their healthy salad.

He slides in next to Sungjong, who gives him a weird, almost pitying look. Using way too many hand gestures for someone who only has two hands, Dongwoo updates him on the news that has them smiling.

Two former graduates of the school are engaged, and everyone is excited, even people that didn’t know either of them. It’s fake, and there’s nothing that he hates more than fakeness. In a school this small, every piece of positive new buzzes around for weeks, infiltrating every conversation until it finally dies down. They need something positive to hold onto, but why grasp at such obvious straws.

“Why am I still alone,” Sungyeol laments. “Why does this always happen to other people?”

“What, people being in perfectly happy relationships without you as one side of the couple? Probably a billion times a year.” Sungjong high-fives Luna.

Sungyeol levels his best glare at him and pouts. This is why he prefers Woohyun as his backup friend. Sensibly immune, Sungjong continues his animated chatting with Amber on his right.

Victoria arrives late to the table, the circles under her eyes betraying her exhaustion. It’s not a surprise; as his female counterpart, her choreo is much more difficult than his, and she is more dedicated and thus practices more. He can’t even imagine the agony of wearing pointe shoes all the freaking time. He’s seen her feet and the blood blisters that wickedly collect under her toenails to pop at any time, the thick calluses of inadequate protection over her used joints.

There’s an awkward pause where she gives the table the once-over, deciding where to sit. He looks at her hopefully, because she is very pretty. She offers him a small yet genuine smile, but then she walks around to the other end where Sulli is sitting.

Victoria is so cool, cooler than Sungyeol, and he kicks himself for asking her out when practices first started, blowing his chances and creating the current awkward atmosphere between them.

Instead he focuses on the table conversation, which mostly has to do with what they’d wear to a wedding if they were asked. Amber favors a tuxedo, which Sungyeol finds a little strange and the rest find awesome, while Dongwoo is talking about designing his own animal-print tie.

“I don’t like suits,” Sungyeol announces. “They’re itchy, they don’t fit me right and I feel like a stuffed penguin.”

“You are weird, aren’t you? You literally wear tights and a dance belt every day.” Amber reminds him, blunt but always friendly.

“Always refuse an invitation to a place that requires you to wear a suit, that’s my motto.”

“I call bullshit, you’ve probably never even been invited to a wedding,” Amber says. She’s right.

“Maybe you haven’t found the right suit,” Sungjong mutters.

“Ballet stuff is different, the way it just… sticks to my skin is comfortable. I dunno, it’s like... Also guys don’t even look attractive in them, no offense anyone.”

“Guys actually always look attractive in a suit,” Krystal says.

“What did you say?” Sulli asks. Krystal tells her, and Sulli says, “Of course that’s right.”

Victoria nods and says, “Yes.”

“I actually like that penguin feeling,” Dongwoo tells him.

“Thanks, Dongwoo. All I’m saying is show me an attractive guy in a suit, and I will show you my wallet.”

“I’ll accept that bet,” Victoria smiles like a toothsome angel.

“Maybe you haven’t found the right one,” Sungjong says, as if Sungyeol hadn’t heard his disgruntled muttering the first time.

Formal clothes are soon set aside in favor of the preferred passive-aggressive discussion topic of soon-to-be-graduates: the future. It’s uncomfortable to think about being in competition with one another, but it’s nonetheless a question that haunts them and bringing it into the open is a natural move.

It’s frightening to know that only a small minority of them will achieve their shared dreams. The saying goes that there is maybe one person in every graduating class who will still be a dancer in ten years.

“It’ll be Hoya, for sure.”

Sungyeol tries to not feel hurt. He glances over at Dongwoo, who could justifiably feel slighted, since he has arguably as much talent as Hoya.

No one seems to have noticed his progress. No matter what role he gets or how hard he tries, the focus is always on Hoya.

That guy. They have settled into a peacefully hostile relationship of mutual ignoring. They do their parts and they communicate minimally. Myungsoo sometimes buffers between them, but more often he just remains silent, too tired to risk anything.

“Going to practice,” he says. He downs his bottle of apple juice

The twinge in his ankle when he stands up shocks him, and he stumbles from the surprise rather than the physicality.

Sungjong asks, “What’s wrong?” because he always notices things he shouldn’t with his daggered eyes, and Sungyeol feels everyone around him focus in on him like flowers turning open-faced to the sun.

“Nothing,” he says automatically, flashing back to yesterday’s fall. Sungjong eyes him only for a split second before looking away.

Inside his head he’s shouting off a filthy and creative stream of every curse he knows. But he acutely feels the surveillance of the others’ gazes, and he knows better than to reveal any possible weakness to a public crowd.

He returns his tray, pondering the very slight pain in his ankle. Sure, it doesn’t hurt too much, but there is a repetitive small twinge when he puts weight on it, and it sends thrills of panic through him.

His heart picks up as he starts to assume the worst. If he’s injured, it means everything will change. His role will be taken away, he’ll be sidelined during auditions season, and he will watch someone else—probably Hoya—onstage dancing his role. Has all his work been for nothing?

The ground tries to shift under his feet.

*

Snips of dark hair fall to the floor of the barbershop. Woohyun casually thumbs through a celebrity gossip magazine, pausing on photos of good-looking models.

“You and Sungyeol. Should I even ask?”

Hoya awkwardly looks up at the two stylists cutting their hair, feeling self-conscious about carrying on a personal conversation in public. But Woohyun doesn’t seem to care, so he probably shouldn’t, either.

“Well—it’s okay. I mean, I wanted it. I still want it. I think it’s gotten better.”

Woohyun is giving him a strange look. “You wanted Sungyeol? Or Myungsoo? I didn’t know you liked either of them.”

Hoya startles, partially by the way Woohyun so casually asks if he has a crush on another guy. “What? No. I wanted the part.” He feels verbally clumsy. Dance comes so easily to him physically, why can’t it be the same with words? Reluctantly, he adds, “They’re okay, though. Myungsoo is really quiet.” Except when he laughs, then he sounds like a seal. But no one laughs much in rehearsal.

“And Sungyeol?”

Hoya wants to answer with a shrug, but to do so would probably result in getting his ear scissored off, so he tries to explain his assortment of feelings. “It’s okay. It’s never going to be my part, so what’s the point?”

Woohyun shrugs, living on the edge. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“But you’re not agreeing.”

“I think it’s important to get along with the people you work with.”

“Did you know that even when you disagree with me, you make it sound like you’re agreeing?”

“Hey, I thought we were talking about _your_ problem,” Woohyun laughs.

Hoya looks down at their intermingled shorn hair. “Let’s get ice cream,” he says impulsively.

“They don’t sell that here.”

Hoya laughs.

“We can’t get that,” Woohyun says, but with a gross big smile.

He’s obviously joking.

The stylist brushes excess hair off his shoulders and asks Hoya how he likes his hair so far.

“I like it,” he says. “Maybe a little shorter. I could use a change.” The airflow is cool over his ears, and he likes the new feeling.

*

Outside the ice cream place, Woohyun fiddles around with his plastic spoon. Hoya’s almost done eating and Woohyun is barely halfway through, the melted bits sludging at the bottom of his paper dish.

“He’s a good guy,” Woohyun says.

“Yeah, I get it. Can we drop it?”

“If you have the rest of my ice cream.”

It’s chocolate, so Hoya agrees, sticking his spoon right in next to Woohyun’s.

“So I have to stop next door,” Woohyun says, referencing the convenience store that everyone frequents.

“Ok.” Hoya dumps the cups into the trash and they’re off.

They wander in, turning less tan under the harsh fluorescent lights. The store belongs to a huge chain of businesses that are popular internationally. It makes most of its money off students, since it is the only place in the small town that sells staples like tissues, lotion, shampoo and… toilet paper.

Woohyun picks up a 24-pack of toilet paper, one whose cartoon advertising symbol is a moose. Moose toilet paper. Hoya catches himself feeling the urge to laugh.

His curiosity overcomes his omnipresent desire to stay quiet. “Why are you getting so much toilet paper?”

“No reason,” Woohyun shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“The one like you think I’m nuts.”

“I don’t have a look like that.”

“You use it all the time.”

Hoya raises a brow.

“Fine, it’s for all of us.”

“So you’re saying…”

Woohyun says very quickly, “Yeah, I replace the TP in the bathroom. Because the kind the school gives us is too scratchy.”

Hoya stares at him for a long time.

“It’s the only thing I will buy for other people,” Woohyun stresses. “You have to take care of that place. Sandpaper just doesn’t fly, you know?”

Hoya shrugs and stretches, flexing his arms to the ceiling. He pushes his cart away, contemplating why Woohyun goes to the trouble of buying toilet paper for everyone without even telling any of them he’s doing it. It’s a line of thought that never would have occurred to him.

In another aisle, he picks up mint gum, contact lens solution for his dry eyes and notebook paper.

Across, in the food aisle there’s a guy with his family, a whole bunch of tall good-looking people. One of those groups where you just look at them and know it’s a real family. The mom points to something in the refrigerated shelves and their dark heads assemble to look at whatever it is. He covets their combined height, noticing that the tallest has quite nice hair and laughs with his whole body, extending his mood outwards.

Hoya continues to inspect them. He notes the way they stand so closely, and one of their hands is hooked around another’s back like an embrace. They lean into each other like the air is more breathable in the center of their space. The tall one stretches upwards and Hoya admires his grace, he must be a student at the school—

And then Hoya realizes who he’s looking at. As if his gaze is charmed, Sungyeol glances over his shoulder as if he realizes he’s being watched. A flash of recognition sparks. Sungyeol eyes him and levels until it’s clear he’s actually glaring.

Hoya flinches away as if he’s been burnt.


	6. Chapter 6

“You could at least sit on the toilet, like in a stall.” Sungyeol raises his voice above the drone of shower water splashing down on his completely naked body.

“The floor is nice,” Myungsoo says. “The tile has an interesting pattern.” He’s sitting right outside the shower, probably cross-legged, probably staring at the sterile ground from the sound of it. It pains Sungyeol to admit this is not an uncommon occurrence. Ever since they were roommates, they’ve had catch-up sessions in the communal bathroom. There’s nothing weird about it, what can he say? Time is scarce, and they are really that comfortable with each other. So what if the other guys give them a hard time.

“So I’m in this anxiety spiral,” he informs Myungsoo.

“That sounds… interesting.”

“Not really,” he admits. “I just want to complain.” His ankle still hurts, but he already self-flagellated himself for his carelessness, wallowing in self-imposed self-doubt and rumination. Now he’s moved on to pestering his best friend, who is always kind enough to listen, within reasonable limits. Myungsoo is his pillar of strength and vice versa, even if they both fall down a lot. It’s been that way since he came here.

“You did that yesterday.”

“Okay… that’s true.” Sungyeol bent down to soap up his legs. “Well how was the session with Ms. Artistic Director?” It’s killing him not to talk about his ankle and babble on about how his entire life might be over before it started, but he’s getting the feeling between rehearsals, his family visiting, and Myungsoo’s sudden inexplicable love for school, he hasn’t really talked to him in a while.

“Just the first meeting? Wasn’t that weeks ago? I thought I told you.”

Had Myungsoo already told him? He was fairly sure not. But perhaps the stress had infiltrated their minds too far, what with all the Prince nonsense.

“One sec I’m gonna rinse.” He ducks his head directly under the water and the jets endeavor to spray right into his ears and nose. Washing away the bubbled shampoo, the rushing over his ears mutes all ambient noise and his fingers scrub until he’s satisfied that his hair’s free of soap. He dips his neck and scrubs his eyes. “Alright, back?”

Myungsoo drones in a tired voice. “Director has been nice. I work as hard as I can, and she knows that. She’s helping me plan.”

“Ugh, we should research companies together, I have got to get on that. I’m meeting with her next week—did she tell you any cool places recruiting lots of people?”

“Not really.”

“Wouldn’t it be super awesome if we were accepted into the same place?” Their physical builds, technical skills and dance styles differ so much that it’s unlikely, but he can hope.

“It would be unrealistic—Oh, hello there,” Myungsoo adds in a tone that is clearly not meant for Sungyeol.

“Who’s that,” Sungyeol yells over the water rushing. He groans. He can’t remember the last time they had a real conversation without being rudely interrupted.

Maybe they need to stop having their heart-to-hearts in the bathroom.

“It’s Sunggyu.”

“What’s up!”

“You both are seriously strange.” Yep, that’s definitely Sunggyu. “Can’t I pee in peace?” A stall door slams shut.

“Cost you one dollar.”

“Maybe someday when I’m rich.”

Sungyeol chuckles, and he assumes Myungsoo joins in even if he can’t hear him laugh. “Good luck on a dance salary.”

“Tell me about it,” Sunggyu says with something unfamiliar in his tone, akin to excitement. “Which is why I’m not doing that thing.”

“What thing?” Myungsoo asks.

“Like… the dance career thing?” Sungyeol says.

“You can’t see me, but I’m nodding my head yes.”

Sungyeol shuts the water off with an outdated thunk. Myungsoo helpfully passes his towel back and he begins drying himself off, trying to leave his weight off his tender foot. Hearing that Sunggyu isn’t continuing, a strange feeling rolls around his stomach. To leave the path they’ve traveled on for over a decade isn’t a decision that one comes to lightly around here. There’s a shared camaraderie that graduates share, even if none of that friendship is felt during their time studying. Leaving the field entirely is uncommon, but definitely not unheard of, and the news of a departure always spreads like wildfire and is mourned as such.

“You’re not auditioning?”

“I’m not.”

“Uh… What will you do?” Myungsoo interjects, sounding curious.

“I’m going to study music composition. I’m applying, at least. So someday you’ll both dance one of my ballets.” He says it in that half-serious, half-wry tone that he uses occasionally where people never know if he’s joking or not. “For now, I’m leaving the bathroom. Have fun, Sungyeol.”

“That’s some shit, isn’t it?” Sungyeol says to himself.

“It’s fifteen to rehearsal,” Myungsoo helpfully informs him after a pause.

He abruptly stops re-drying his feet and wraps his towel around himself, booking it to get to his room for clothes. “Damn. I’ll see you there, yeah?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I have permission to miss,” Myungsoo says.

“From who?”

“The director. You’ll tell them, right?” Myungsoo’s voice sounds funny coming through the shower curtain or not.

“If you say so… I guess I can fill her in.” But he’s not looking forward to it.

He makes it there in time with his weird half-limping gait, but the choreographer is predictably mad, and he shrinks under her gaze.

“Myungsoo isn’t going to be here? The director approved it?” The choreographer frowns. Sungyeol casts his eyes at her feet, feeling very much like a kid receiving a scolding even though he’s done nothing wrong.

He takes a deep breath in and prepares to give her more bad news, that he can’t dance today either.

Then Hoya struts in, and with one look Sungyeol knows major, major shit’s going to go down today in rehearsal.

*

Sungyeol can’t believe Hoya would do something so stupid. Hoya apparently can’t believe it either.

“You cut your hair!” The choreographer’s eyes swell to saucers. “You can’t do that with permission.”

Hoya doesn’t look nearly contrite enough for a person facing imminent execution. “Yeah… Sorry. I did cut it.”

“This is not a look that hair and makeup will want to work with.”

“It slipped my mind.”

“You holding this role is conditional upon certain terms. Does it worry you that you mighta just broken them?” She taps her foot on the ground, rhythmically of course.

Hoya belatedly begins to look very, very scared. Or it’s an expression that Sungyeol assumes means scared. He’s never seen anything like it on Hoya’s face before.

“I’ll have to see what the director thinks about it.”

Hoya looks stunned. His mouth opens and makes a distinct lack of words.

Sungyeol’s hand shoots into the air.

“You don’t have to raise your hand, just talk,” the choreographer sighs.

“I’m injured. I can’t dance today.”

“What is with you all today? Did you see the nurse?”

“I have… an appointment,” Sungyeol lies very obviously.

The choreographer massages her temples, probably cursing the day she decided to work with high-schoolers. “Sungyeol, just go to the nurse now. Hoya, you leave too. I can’t look at you when you’re like this. Get out of my sight. Or better yet, we’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

She stalks out after thanking the accompanist, who fumbles with the sheet music and hurries out after her, incredibly relieved to get out of the hostile environment.

“We deserved that,” Sungyeol says.

“Well, I did. I guess you can’t help being injured.”

“Looks like maybe Myungsoo will be dancing after all.” Hoya shudders at that, but Sungyeol can’t really blame him.

“I can’t believe I forgot the rule. I never forget stuff like that,” Hoya says, looking at the mirror like he wants to destroy his reflection.

“Eh… maybe it’s good you did.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hoya narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Their default mode of operation is competition, and each petty triviality can become a catalyst for an argumentative blowup; living in close quarters has taught him nothing if not that, though it’s a lesson he finds himself continually having to relearn. Sungyeol bites his tongue, thinking he already got yelled at enough for the day that a plain old misunderstanding just isn’t worth his time. “I mean your hair looks good, dumbass.”

Hoya stops bristling at the perceived slight and tilts his head, as if trying to assess his motivation. “Thanks?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Thanks for stepping in.”

Sungyeol hadn’t cut into the lecture on purpose, but he certainly was going to take credit for it. “It’s kind of funny. Being mad about some extra dead cells getting sliced off.”

Half of Hoya’s mouth turns up. Awkwardly, he asks, “Your injury. Where does it hurt?”

Sungyeol immediately feels defensive. He is still talking to his understudy and rival, here. “It’s fine.”

“Right…”

“It’ll be fine. Eventually.”

“What did the nurse say?” Hoya correctly reads the guilt on Sungyeol’s face. “You didn’t see the nurse. Well, that’s stupid of you.”

“Hey!”

“You’re just gonna make it worse, worrying,” Hoya says simply. “Go to the doctor.”

“Okay then, sir!” Sungyeol salutes, making the kind of joke he would around Myungsoo when he’s being pretend-bossy, forgetting his present-day company. And Hoya furrows his eyebrows and doesn’t laugh, so he lowers his arm sheepishly, feeling spurned.

“Try not to run there,” Hoya says with a weird expression that leaves his pointy teeth exposed.

Sungyeol shoots him a retaliatory glare, and it’s not until he’s halfway up the stairs that he realizes Hoya might have been attempting to joke with him.

*

The office is closed that night, because he’s not “considered” an emergency case. So he calls in a few times and shows up first thing in the morning to try to make an appointment. Thankfully, students are not clamoring at the door at 6am, and the doctor sees him right away.

“Yes, my receptionist did receive your five phone calls,” the doctor says pointedly.

“Oh. Can you tell her I’m sorry?”

“I can tell him,” she says pointedly.

“Sorry for that, too, I guess.” He rolls his pants leg up and she does a brief examination on him.

“You have a small strain, I’m guessing… It’s not sprained or twisted. That’s good. But it should have healed by now.” She blinks fast and frowns.

“Can I dance? What about in a few weeks? Should I take medicine?” The barrage of needy questions flows too easily.

She appraises him thoughtfully. “Hmm.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Does it hurt less if I do this?” She very calmly presses down upon a soft juncture in his ankle.

“Yeah,” Sungyeol says, relief washing over him.

“Well, it shouldn’t. I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh.” He feels dumb.

“Your stress is causing more tension to develop in your ankle, preventing it from recuperating through natural rest. You should take ibuprofen or acetominophen, and ice and elevate when you’re not dancing. Mark everything for a few days and drink water and sleep.”

Sungyeol can’t believe that’s it. “Yeah, I can mark it.” Marking means doing the basic moves of the choreography, but not full-out; hitting the ballet’s marks, but without flair or full energy.

She gives him a Look.

“And I can sleep. If I have to.” If this is the biggest ordeal he has to surmount before this performance is through, he will count himself lucky.

*

When he exits the office, he’s unexpectedly met with Victoria. Her hair is mussed up and she’s in baggy grey sweatpants and a long T-shirt. He’s about to flirt and greet her, but the tight set of her mouth intimidates him into releasing only a simple hello.

She folds her arms crisply. “What the hell are you doing in the infirmary?”

“Wow, who did you even hear about it from?” He’s never heard her talk that way before.

She rolls her eyes, and Sungyeol takes her point.

“Never mind that. What’s it to you?” It’s barely past sunrise and he’s undergoing an interrogation.

She takes a deep breath. “Look, you have been checking out of your practices with me since day one. You can’t just do your own thing, you have to work with me to make our cuts look good too. I mean, there’s all of that in the first place, and now I have to hear from someone else besides you that you may be out of commission for good? A question you still haven’t answered?”

“I’m fine.” He’s maybe been slacking a little on paired work, but he’s been thinking that they’ll have time to fine-tune details when it gets closer to performance.

“You can’t get hurt. If I need to send someone to check on you every day I will, especially if you’re so determined to go at this alone, like an idiot.” She lets out a huge sigh and presses her hand to her forehead. “I need an aspirin.”

“I’m actually, completely fine.” He explains what the doctor said. “Go ask her to confirm. And why does this matter so much right now?”

She takes a few steps closer to him, and normally he’d be turned on as hell to be this close to an attractive female human being, with her face inches from his face, but instead he finds himself fighting the urge to retreat, given the context. He’s never seen her—wacky, friendly Victoria—so serious, her eyebrows drawn sharply on her face.

Her fingers jabs and punctuates her points. “Did it occur to you, that if you lose the part, then I lose mine? I practice with you. You’re my partner. I’m not doing months of prep work to dance with Hoya or Myungsoo, just like you’re not preparing to go with Krystal. That means if one of them has to step in because you weren’t paying attention, then I get replaced too, and I’m out. If you’re not dancing, I don’t go on. And same goes for you.” She bites her lip. “All of which, you actually know perfectly well already.”

“That’s…” Sungyeol did know how partnering works, just like everyone does, but he hadn’t dedicated any time to thinking about it.

Why he hadn’t given this more thought, he actually has no idea, given that it’s highly relevant information and has absolutely frightening ramifications for the current status of his life. He’s struck with equally intense bouts of mortification and panic. What the hell has he been doing? Indulging in Hoya-soaked tunnel vision? “That sucks. Are you okay?”

“That’s the way it is. You know that.” She tosses her curtain of hair over one shoulder. “Can you just fucking tell me the next time you decide to develop an apparently hallucinatory injury. If I hurt myself, I would have called you to let you know, instead of effing… hiding away in my room making everything worse.”

That’s a pretty accurate assessment, so he has no need to contest it. “What were they saying about me? Do I even wanna know.”

She cracks a slow smile, finally. “You should have heard the rumors. Someone said you faked it to get out of the show, so you could apply for freakin’ college. Like that would happen!”

He laughs along with her. Then her phone beeps, and she fishes it out of her pocket as it lights up.

“I’ve got to run. By the way, tell Myungsoo to practice more, he almost dropped my friend during a lift.” She turns on her heel and strides off down the hallway in long steps. “I’ll see you out there, partner.”

“Yeah,” Sungyeol calls after her, still a bit gobsmacked. “Partner…”


	7. Chapter 7

Bunions invade the soles of Hoya’s feet, and even his waist protests with a sharp ache when he lays himself down into his bed each night. Well, daily schedules of long rehearsals will do that to you. 

In group practices, the new guys have adjusted accordingly, and Hoya puffs his chest out a little when people continually ask for his help on mastering this port de bras here, or the counts for the changing promenades during the frenetic part of the music. Most of his satisfaction comes from having fellow captain Woohyun at his side, and Woohyun probably deserves most of the credit for Hoya’s improved styles of management. He never would have imagined being friends with this guy, whose overt friendliness seemed like smarminess, but Hoya has to admit that there’s an art to communication and Woohyun is miles farther down the learning track than he is. It’s educational watching him at work. Hoya can mimic an open smile with more ease now. 

He is both pleased and regretful when Sungyeol makes a full recovery in a week. There’s a modicum of guilt to his mild regret, but it’s hard to blame himself for still desiring the biggest, plum opportunity to showcase his skills, even if it’s never going to happen. 

But the being pleased part is entirely unexpected. Sungyeol’s recovered, and his energy radiates anew; watching him with Victoria doesn’t make him want to punch a wall anymore, since their duet is gaining more traction. He should be more jealous, but he supposes that he’s spent so much time in close quarters with him that pity, or something, developed. 

Girls’ captain Krystal drops him a rare wink when the group finally, finally hits all their marks for their first time. She’s kind of retiring like Hoya, slow to initiate conversation, but they respect her in Victoria’s absence. He doesn’t quite understand their dynamics, but since Victoria, as one of the strongest dancers, usually served as leader in the past, he reckons it’s been as much as a struggle for her as for him. Practicing with twice as many people in the room multiplies their stressors by ten, but they’re dealing. 

The wear and tear of the demanding schedule usually begins to show around this time of year, though, and no one is exempt. Hoya develops headaches and forgets to drink enough water. Krystal has to remind Amber and Sungjong to stop whispering, and while everyone is cordial inside practice, tempers flare more easily outside the mirrored rooms. 

And Sunggyu accidentally fouettes one of the younger boys in the arm, pretty much kicking him down. It results in a nasty bruise and a schism of taking sides that Woohyun somehow persuades them to shake off, with a solution Hoya would never have thought of. 

Dongwoo normally bears strain as if it’s nothing but a breeze over his tanned skin, but recently he’s even been skipping meals to practice more, and the hollows under his eyes are growing. Hoya does his pathetic best to reassure him, but Dongwoo leaves looking a bit haggard. Dongwoo isn’t even in their year’s rehearsals--but he’s probably looking into auditions just like Hoya. If anyone’s going places it’s Dongwoo, and while Hoya misses working with him, he feels a pit in his stomach when he considers his own meeting with the Director. 

Seated on a bench outside her office, he obsessively wonders what she’ll say about his illegal hair until his brain is sore. 

Between getting in trouble and his reaction to Sungyeol’s “recovery,” Hoya thinks he may have developed an odd rare condition. Strangely, though he’d been scolded harshly, and even Sungyeol had been intimidated, Hoya punched the air like a winner when he was alone, unable to control his reaction and oddly vindicated. He should be more upset that Sungyeol healed properly, and he should mind the fact that he’s about to get reamed for improper hair conduct, but his recent obligation circuits have faulty wiring. 

Hoya spies Sungjong coming out from the director’s office with a slow and uncharacteristic gait. His meeting is next. 

Silent as always, Hoya lets him walk by undisturbed, but Sungjong turns back at the last moment. He’s still growing taller, inch by inch, though Hoya stopped long ago. The effect is tremendous when he draws himself up to his full height. 

“She said I don’t have a good chance,” Sungjong bursts out, smearing his hands over his cheeks. Flinching, Hoya scoots to the side to give him space to sit down. There’s negative chance he’s going to cry--this is Sungjong--but his face contorts with unfamiliar emotions, the likes of which Hoya’s never observed. 

“You? Why?” Sungjong exerts himself in the practice rooms as much as Hoya; his ethic is similarly legendary among the younger students. Though he’s lacking in certain areas, Hoya figured his blatant magnetism will carry him into at least an entry-level position at a moderate-leveled company, at best. 

“Not about finding a company. Of reaching soloist in the next decade or two, or ever.” 

“Soloist… Well. That depends. Odds are low for anyone,” Hoya says bluntly. He’s no professional, but he’s not exactly sure he sees Sungjong as a leading man, not in the years he’s spent with him. 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Sungjong chokes bitterly. “You think I haven’t heard it enough from everyone?” He breathes in, straightens his posture before slumping forwards as if bending under a weighty secret. “All I hear is Sungjong, be more like this or that. It’s all too much… My friends are being told to lose weight, but they’re telling me to put more on, and I’ve honestly tried.” 

“I’m small,” Hoya says, knowing he’s unhelpful. He’s stunned to be witness to a real live Sungjong breakdown--if it could be called that, for his eyes remain dry and cool, and his face flashes anger only in the sharpest of its angles and high turns. 

“They don’t say these things to you.” 

_Who are they?_ He wonders if the shitlist includes him, but it’s clear that Sungjong is not accepting questions at this time. Channelling his best Woohyun impression, Hoya simply says, “Fuck them.” Sungjong jerks up in surprise, dropping his hands to his sides. He catches a breath to speak. 

“Hoya? Your appointment?” comes the director’s raised voice from inside the room. 

“Shit, have to go. Do you, uh… Want to practice with me some time? Not that you need practice,” he adds quickly. 

Sungjong stands and winds up into his usual immaculate posture, his hands to his sides. His eyebrows scrunch together but he says, “Ok, you get going. I wil take your number off Woohyun or Yeol. Nice chat.” 

“Sungyeol doesn’t have my--” but Sungjong’s gone. Somehow, Hoya feels like he’s just been done a favor. 

::: 

Seated in a too-fancy chair, Hoya duly passes the Director a typed list with the names of all the top ballet companies whose structure and directors he likes. 

Using a gold-embossed pen she automatically crosses out several names. “Not these.” 

With the remainder, she explains each company’s strong and weak points, their potential appeal to him, and what they specifically look for in a dancer, telling him what he should try to emphasize in his individual auditions. His hand busies itself with taking copious notes. Though the Director retired from dance years ago, her former title as reigning queen of ballet is accompanied by a generous heaping of business sense, years of professional experience and a pristine eye for talent. 

Auditions are an entirely different ballgame, and all students at their academy joined the queue years ago. He’ll have his chance, but just like their end-of-year show, he will have only one chance each time. 

He could daydream his future forever, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the future depends on the present, and so he doesn’t dare daydream too often. But with the season of truth upon him, he strays to imagine himself alone on a stage, bobbing to a grand allegro or on the arm of a prima ballerina, gliding to a waltz. To be the best dancer, to climb the spindly ladder to demisoloist, soloist and principal: his goals spin in front of him tantalizingly, and he can’t stand thinking about them being snatched away. 

“I really liked one of those companies on the list. What’s wrong with them?” 

She blinks and perhaps purses her lips, pausing before answering. “You are too short for those, the uniformly tall corps. It’s worth trying for these,” she underlines with conviction, “but again, lower end of their height range. Your best bets will be the ones I mentioned earlier.” 

With as little annoyance as possible, he says, “Will this always hold me back?” Some vitriol breaks through his mask. He doesn’t like to waste time on things he can’t change, but he needs to know, and he needs to know now how big of an obstacle his birthright will be. 

She considers him. “Not universally or equally, so no. In some cases, yes.” 

He nods. “Thanks. That’s what I needed to know.” He packs up his bag, slings it over his shoulder. 

“What a short meeting.” She radiates calm, so he can’t tell if any sarcasm laces her words. “No further questions?” 

He already spouted off his flurry of queries, so there’s nothing left for him to say, he figures. 

“I’m surprised, I must say.” 

“About what?” 

“You don’t have anything you’d like to ask me?” 

A not-so-old wound digs into his side. “I don’t think so,” he lies. 

“Come again, now?” 

“I do, but--” 

“But you’re afraid of pissing me off, and ruining your recommendation letter. If you ask me--actually ask--I’ll answer.” 

He mulls it over and swallows, and he asks what he needs to. “Why didn’t I get the part.” Working with Sungyeol for weeks, he now understands that the other boy is capable and has a strong presence--but it took him weeks to learn a part that Hoya could have learned in days, and Sungyeol’s face shakes while Hoya’s is steady. He honestly wants to know what he did wrong in his audition, just so that he can fix it. 

She reclines into her chair and tells him plainly. When she’s finished explaining, he isn’t surprised so much at the reasons why than at himself, for not thinking of them sooner. He anticipates the sleepless nights he’ll spend pondering the new information. 

He already used his last question up, but he can’t resist. “Aren’t you going to say anything about my hair?” 

She glances at him cursorily, only to refocus on filing his student folder away in its proper desk drawer. “Looks good.” A hint of a smile plays out, and Hoya wonders what she thinks of him, of all of them. Running a hand through his shorn hair, he’s out the door. 

::: 

“Your math is wrong.” 

“It’s not like yours is right,” Sungyeol snaps, tired and bored out of his mind. He’s sorry before Myungsoo’s pencil hits the paper. 

“Do you really want me to help you?” 

“Yeah but let’s take a break.” 

“I’m really close to the answer.” Myungsoo holds his pencil between his teeth and bites down, focused on the problem in front of him. Sungyeol recognizes narrowed eyes and hunched shoulders, telltale signs of Myungsoo’s single-minded resolution at work. It’s one of his best friend’s best and worst character traits, and it means that Sungyeol won’t be able to drag him away from the problem until it’s done, not for food, practice or showers. 

“The meeting was ok. With the Director, I mean.” 

Distractedly, Myungsoo says, “That’s good.” 

Sungyeol coughs, hoping that Myungsoo will ask him more questions so he has an excuse to talk about it and how out-of-control stressed he feels, but Myungsoo’s absorption into the problem is reaching maximal levels. “How’s yours?” 

“I’m tomorrow.” 

“You’re seeing her again? But you already did that.” 

“Those weren’t my official review.” 

“Why so many then?” 

Myungsoo gives his paper a despairing look, like he’d rather be talking in mathematical symbols than in words, on paper instead of out loud to Sungyeol. “Because there are so many decisions.” 

Sungyeol always thought of himself as more indecisive than Myungsoo, but with the sheer amount of research into schools, not to mention the upcoming audition process ( _more auditions,_ great) it’s no wonder that he needs the extra time. Actually, thinking about it, he ends up with guilt settling into his shoulders, because he could have been a lot more helpful than he has been… And here they are, with Myungsoo basically doing their math homework for him. 

“You’ll get in for sure. You’re like the ideal type.” He’s going to beef up Myungsoo’s confidence, starting today. 

“Thanks.” Sungyeol isn’t sure if he even heard him. Myungsoo continues, “Okay, what if we use this formula, and look here…” Myungsoo babbles math that Sungyeol probably could understand, if he cared and weren’t brain-fried and hadn’t skipped class. Instead Myungsoo’s explanation washes over him like rain, and he’s asleep within minutes on the hard floor. 

::: 

Hoya’s had texting for years but never used it except for scheduling his commitments to dance. Recently, Woohyun has been lighting up his phone with dings and hums, so after dinner when he’s brushing his teeth he checks the screen, expecting to see his co-captain bothering him. 

_hi this is sungjong. how was your appointment?_

Direct and to the point, that’s definitely Sungjong. Hoya has no doubt he mooched his number off Woohyun. Honestly, he’s kind of… weirdly excited? He doesn’t have people pestering him outside the classroom often, especially since he doesn’t initiate conversations himself. 

_it was OK_

Two seconds later he panics and spits water out of his mouth. What a pathetic attempt at a response. After a beat, he humorously adds more. 

_im 2 short_

Not ten seconds later, his phone beeps. 

_i’m sorry. you text terribly._

Sungjong doesn’t mention what happened earlier, so Hoya won’t ask. He gargles wipes his mouth on a paper towel. 

_but its so slw_

_slow? i’m going to bed._

Normally Hoya corrects his typos, but Sungjong must type like lightening to be able to respond instantaneously, and Hoya worries about losing his attention while waiting for his response. He wanders to his room and decides grammar can sacrifice its dignity for the sake of time. 

_your not_

_:P how do you know?_

What does that face mean? This is why Hoya doesn’t text. Regardless, he knows it’s a bluff. 

_ha ha ha_

_yes? ...fine, i’m going to practice._

_yea i thout so_

_you too?_

_ye_

_have a good night. and don’t come by my practice room, i’m busy._

Their conversation spans fifteen minutes, but Hoya presses back a smile for the rest of the lonely night. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I continue with the current update pace, I will finish in late 2015. Hoping that I can write faster than that though!

Mirrors rim the dressing room walls. Bright overhead lights and eye-level standing lamps illuminate their faces and bodies, and makeshift curtains adorn individual stalls at the wall furthest from the door. Hoya feels half like he’s in a department store dressing room, half like he’s one of the full mannequin outfits on display. The costume design grunts run in and out, noses buried in clipboards, coordinating the fittings for the show.

“I like your hair,” Luna tells him, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. She crosses her legs in the chair next to him.

“Thanks,” Hoya says. He’s growing it out again, as per the official request. He clears his throat. “Uh, yours is nice too.”

Luna’s great to make conversation with him, and Hoya couldn’t wish for a better partner in the art of understudying, but their conversations usually reach the awkwardness boiling point after five minutes, mainly due to his own failings, and it’s been over an hour.

They’re dealing with the customary costume fittings lull, but Hoya’s going to start leaking sweat into his fresh costume if he doesn’t get out from under the lights pretty soon. Costume fittings happen with an hour of waiting, a half hour of trying it on, an hour of waiting, five blurred minutes of rapid-fire questions about the fit, and an hour of waiting, or something like that. Hoya usually tries to nap away the time, avoiding fantasies of how else he could be spending his Saturday afternoon.

To be honest, even his daydreams involve ballet.

“How’s the jacket holding up.” Luna leans into the mirror, inspecting her complexion.

“It’s okay. How’s yours?”

“Same. It’s okay, but it just doesn’t feel like it’s mine, really.”

He knows what she means. It's strange to be wearing something specially picked out for him, like how his parents dressed him for the first day of school. His red jacket has gold buttons, a collar and cuffs at the wrists that itch him. He's wearing plain white tights for now, since the pants that were meant for him were way too long and need to be altered. It’s all stuffy and hot, and long sleeves burn under the wattage of the stage, but if he ever gets the miraculous chance to wear this he’ll gladly absorb it like a second skin. As it is, it feels like he's gotten trussed up for an insanely fancy party but lacks an invitation to appear. 

Luna’s got on a red and gold dress that also needs to be altered, since he’s pretty sure the hem’s not meant to hit the floor.

Peals of laughter erupt from a few chairs down, where Dongwoo is doing terrible magic tricks with his Jester hat, making the costume designer’s assistant giggle. The hat by itself is enough to make anyone laugh, oversized and with random childish bobbles stuck to it. But it fits, and Hoya can imagine it adorning Dongwoo’s exaggerated expressions, rather than overshadowing him.

A few chairs to the other side, Sungyeol is chatting animatedly with Victoria. Clad in deep emerald green, they’ll make a statuesque stage couple. Hoya had no idea they even were friends.

This is the most expensive costume he’s ever worn, and it’s still not as nice as Sungyeol’s. It’s clear who the understudy is, and who the real Prince is.

Sungjong slides into the chair next to Luna. “So how bad is it?”

Hoya's been texting him a bit, mostly mindless banter at odd hours of the night, but it calms him to know there’s another night owl awake and fighting. Sungjong is sharp in mind and in tongue, and they’ve agreed to start working on their endlessly neglected English project when they have free time.

Luna flicks her eyes up and down his body. “It’s alright!” She gives a smile too big to be genuine and Sungjong narrows his eyes at her.

“Pretty bad,” Hoya says, biting back a grin.

As Dongwoo’s understudy, Sungjong’s poor hat has multicolored feathers, like a showy, overgrown peacock of a craft project gone wrong. It’s like they didn’t even try. Sungjong himself sports the same bags under his eyes as everyone else, but his overall complexion is bright and blemish-free, and Hoya feels a spark of jealousy.

“Luna, please smack him for me? I can’t reach that far.”

She punches him lightly in the shoulder, and Hoya groans like it hurts.

“Stylist says they’ll have it ready by showtime,” Sungjong shrugs. “Not like I’ll wear it.”

That merits a collective sigh. Their regular costumes that they wear in the group fit fine and are plenty ornate, but it’s nice to pretend, sometimes, that they’re going to dance the roles they’ve worked so hard for, and a costume helps with that fleeting fiction.

 

*

 

The choreographer’s eagle eyes assess them. She types corrections and notes on her sleek laptop and reads them off after each bout.

Sungyeol had figured Myungsoo was just in another room for costume fittings, but while he shows up to the excruciating group rehearsal, he’s absent once again from Prince rehearsal. Honestly, he feels a lot more stressed when Myungsoo’s gone, and today’s not going well.

“Can you support my balance a little more, in the promenade?” Victoria says.

Sungyeol groans, “Well, can you raise your leg higher?”

“Maybe if you helped me balance.”

She has a point, not that he wants to see it. Their partner work has improved by leaps and bounds, but they have a long way to go.

At least Hoya keeps missing a beat, making him late to the grand lift at the end. Hoya presses his lips together and fists his hands like he wants to kill something.

Sungyeol would find more humor in the situation if he weren’t failing to hit the musical mark himself.

The choreographer just shakes her head.

“Hoya, Sungyeol, do an extra practice before the next meeting. And everyone, work on your facial expressions. Happy! Joy!”

They manage a slight change from despondent to neutral.

“Look, don’t give me that attitude. You could be replaced by another student or member of the corps if word reaches the director, and you don’t want that around this time of year. If you’re lagging, or unenthusiastic, or trouble to work with, there are loads more students or professionals who can take over.”

It’s not a scolding, and it’s clearly meant to motivate them, but Sungyeol droops, and Hoya inspects the ground. 

Sungyeol wonders how Myungsoo will ever catch up and pushes the recurring thought to the back of his mind. 

 

*

 

Hoya sits on the other end of a missed connection, dial tone beeping morbidly in his ear. On a rare whim, he’d called home—a number he’s deleted from his phone but not his memory.

Of course no one answers; it’s the wrong time of day, and he’s the wrong person to be calling at all, but he presumes it would have been nice to hear one of his sibling’s voices, even ticking seconds of unconcerned parental breathing on the other line before the inevitable hang-up.

He sighs and flops his torso over to his other leg, stretching away the time.

 

*

 

Sungyeol spoons the last of the chicken lo mein directly into his mouth and deposits the takeout container next to the five others littering his bedroom floor. The back of his hand wipes grease off his mouth.

“Pass me the rice?”

Myungsoo obliges. They’re barrelling towards prime stomachaches by the end of the night, but they don’t get to indulge as often as they used to, and takeout is one of their simple pleasures.

Sungyeol's given up on pretending to do homework, his pen and worksheets buried under paper napkins. He listens as Myungsoo makes a humming noise in his throat. He’s been doing that a lot tonight, like he's setting up to say something, but no words subsequently materialize.

Sungyeol’s been counting, and that’s the seventh hum. He prompts him. “What is it?”

Peering into his box of food, Myungsoo says, “Nothing... Except, no." He braces himself. "It is something. Remember, I saw the Director a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, you met a lot.”

Myungsoo smiles. “She wanted to talk about the very real possibility that I won’t get cast in a company.”

“Don’t listen to her, you know that more than one of us won’t get cast by the end of the year, it’s common to be on the market for months after graduation.”

“Not at the end of the year. At all.”

Sungyeol takes the information in stride, determined to find a solution to Myungsoo’s doubt. Sungyeol has occasional indulgences in self-loathing too, but there's logically no reason that top trainees like them won't place _somewhere_ , even if it's a rookie company in a small town. “That’s not true. There’s a company for everyone, and you’ve made it this far so there’s no reason to think you won’t make it to the next stage—”

“Sungyeol.” Myungsoo interrupts, which he never does. “It doesn’t matter. After talking to the director, it made me realize that when I thought about not going on to a company, I felt relieved more than anything else.”

“Huh? What d’you mean?” Sungyeol swallows hard, like his emotions have caught up to the situation faster than his brain. 

Myungsoo seems to gather strength and starts to speak faster. “I don’t think I want to be a dancer. I want to take photographs, or study history and go on archeological digs and take more photographs.”

The air conditioner blows cold on Sungyeol’s face. Myungsoo digging up old bones? How preposterous. This discussion is quickly going off the rails, and he needs to navigate them back on course. But Myungsoo keeps talking, really fast like this is something he’s planned out, an entire rationalization, like it’s not a discussion but an announcement, ending with “so I just think it’s... the right time to drop.”

Sungyeol must have zoned out in the middle, since something is missing from the speech he just gave, but his pulse quickens and thrums in anticipation. “What do you mean?” He’ll be absolutely stunned if Myungsoo is saying what he thinks he is.

“I mean, I’m not going to dance anymore.” Myungsoo looks away transparently.

Sungyeol drops his chopsticks in disbelief. “The fuck?”

Thinking back, he remembers the hints, and could even sum them up, but he still wouldn’t have seen this coming. He thought maybe Myungsoo was mildly depressed, or in a rough dance plateau. That he’d come back swinging with the understudy role. All this time, Myungsoo’s been flirting around the idea of something much larger, and it’s too much to think about so Sungyeol barrels on with his denial.

“You like dancing.”

Myungsoo stops gnawing his lip for a second. “No I don’t. I kind of liked it when I was younger, but not for a long time.”

“But if I didn’t like something, I wouldn’t be doing it for seven hours a day?”

“That is… why I’m stopping,” Myungsoo says, like Sungyeol's answered his own question. 

Sungyeol remembers the choreographer’s words from earlier. “Myungsoo, with that kind of attitude how do you expect to get to stage like this? Everything’ll be fine.”

Myungsoo takes in a deep breath and heaves a matching, huge sigh. “Yeol. Just. Stop thinking about yourself?”

Sungyeol’s stomach drops, and he gapes speechlessly. This is shaping up to be the worst fight he’s ever had with Myungsoo, and it’s barely begun.

“I’m not—”

“And I don’t want. To get roles because I’m tall,” Myungsoo spits out. “That’s right. That’s why I’m your understudy, because I’m the next tallest in line, that’s what I finally got out of meeting with the director and it probably should have been Hoya but it’s not and now he can have my place, because I’m just. Leaving.” His voice is greyed and there’s steel in his eyes.

“That's dumb, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about…”

“You can’t say that about her. Her eye for talent is spot-on and you're missing the point— _I don’t even like dancing._ ”

“You do, you’re just giving up. Deserting.”

Sungyeol's tone is acrid and unfair, and it takes an effort to push the false words out of his mouth. But Myungsoo has never been angry with him like this, never made him feel panicked and out-of-control like this and it scares him, and he wants desperately to retaliate in a way that will make him stop. So he talks, the only thing he knows how to do even when it’s totally, utterly the wrong thing to do, hoping that he’ll blunder upon the right phrase that will make his best friend, his lifeline for years, somehow stay.

“You’re leaving me?”

“It’s not about you,” Myungsoo repeats. “I’m stopping ballet. Everything that this place is, is it’s just not right for me. I have to. I have to go, and leave everything behind, and you’ll move on, and it’s not fair.” His fists dig into his eyes and his breath comes in ragged gasps, and Sungyeol realizes Myungsoo’s not angry at all. His arms drop like lead to his sides, and Myungsoo’s hands come out wet from his face.

“Oh my god,” Sungyeol says, realization finally hitting him. “Oh my god.” His heart’s falling out of his chest.

“Please don’t yell more.”

Sungyeol’s temper is quick to inflame, but his short fuse burns out quickly, and contrition strikes him just as fast. “I’m sorry,” he says, relaxing into his posture. “I’m really, really not mad.”

Myungsoo seems to accept that, but crying isn’t something that stops easily, not with months of pent-up anxiety and secretiveness, neither of them being traits that come naturally to Myungsoo. They sit cross-legged on the floor like elementary schoolchildren, and Sungyeol indulges in rubbing his back, something Myungsoo likes, while he quiets his own voice and errant, unkind thoughts.

So Myungsoo is really quitting dance, and the trail Sungyeol blazed out in his mind for both of them to travel together in the future is an impossibility now.

 

*

 

Hoya is lying on his back with earphones in when Sungyeol enters the practice room ten minutes late. They scheduled it reluctantly, agreeing that they couldn't let bad feedback impact them negatively. All of this was of course under the presupposition that Myungsoo would be coming too, and Sungyeol isn't sure he favors dealing with Hoya alone. 

“Hey,” Hoya says.

“Hi.” Sungyeol knows his face is blotchy from crying, which he completed in the privacy of his own room not fifteen minutes prior. Hoya probably thinks the redness is acne.

The situation isn't as dire as Myungsoo made it sound initially—his best friend isn't leaving the school or anything, but he won't be understudying anymore or participating in the final shows, and while he'll still attend regular dance classes, he has permission to miss for university visits and interviews. 

“Where do you want to start?”

“Myungsoo’s not coming?”

Sungyeol gears up to snap at him, not in the mood to be goaded about Myungsoo "slacking off" or something, when he notices Hoya’s unguarded, curious expression and sprawled-out limbs.

If he missed out on noticing Myungsoo struggling for months, it freshly occurs to him that it's possible he missed something else.

He nudges his foot at Hoya’s shoulder, not in an unfriendly way, and pretends not to notice the resounding flinch. “Alright space case. I know everyone says gossip is some cardinal sin, but for certain people, you as an example, I think it's fine to indulge.”

It’s like he’s speaking an incomprehensible language. By his suspiciously knitted eyebrows, Hoya’s only more confused, but he doesn’t move to stand up.

Myungsoo  _had_ said he didn't care who knew, now that he'd told Sungyeol. And so while Sungyeol would like to outright laugh at Hoya's puzzlement, he's not exactly in the right mood for it today. 

He drops himself to the ground and sets himself up cross-legged, overworked knees sighing in protest. “Well. I guess you’re gonna find out anyway, so I’ll tell you about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /end of the first "arc"  
> wrote a lot of the 2nd-to-last scene in March so I'm happy I am now this far along!  
> I'm so excited for the next one  
> (also, I not-so-secretly do love Sungjong's hat)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right... it's an update. I don't have much to say except that I didn't intend for it to be this long for an update, but I don't want to spoil the flow and put personal notes in here. But I will always intend to continue writing this and I enjoyed writing this chapter :)
> 
> I'm going to link one of Insooni's performances too, since she's mentioned in this chapter!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtKECUVDdqE

“She’s been around for almost thirty years, Mom, Insooni is a legend. If I don’t get tickets I’m going to die.”

Sungyeol has two laptops lined up side-by-side, each displaying the same foreboding webpage. He rented the extra laptop from the library earlier in the week, anticipating the future for once in his life. 

Five minutes left until he has his chance to win big. 

It’s that time of the semester when all the students crowd the school’s servers, vying for a limited number of student rush tickets to an exclusive performance, usually a top star, often a graduate from this very school.

“No, I will literally die. She doesn’t do shows like this anymore, and she’s coming _here_? She’s a global name in ballet, and there’s no one who dances like her. She’s over fifty, right, but she could dance the hell out of any kid my age. Yeah sure, I won’t say hell. But listen, she just has… everything—wicked style, great feet, and she’s gotta be the dancer with the most power in her posture I’ve ever seen, and that’s including guys. No, I don’t have a crush on her. No.” _Not anymore._ Sungyeol blurts, “Mom I gotta go. Clock’s ticking.”

Sungyeol pulls up the clock on his phone that displays seconds, watching them tick from one number to the next, intermittently holding his breath as he refreshes the pages over and over. If he can’t get tickets he’s going to bribe everyone he knows to get theirs. 

The minute flicks over, and he scrambles on the keys to refresh, the page finally showing the login page. He types in his school username and password on his laptop on the left and clicks “Go,” then while it’s loading he repeats the same maneuver on the rental to his right. 

His own computer loads a fraction of a second more quickly and when he sees the screen he yells, because it’s showing him the seat choice diagram. 

“Fuck! I’m in!”

Balcony, ground floor, audience left or right, he doesn’t care, just take one fast… He clicks a plum seat in the middle of the upper balcony and it lights up green. He’s about to check out and pay the small, student-reduced fee when he sees the box at the upper right.

Seats Chosen: 1 of 2

He gets two seats? This is the first time he’s heard of it. 

Whatever, he can probably get Myungsoo to come, even if he is quitting dance forever. 

He clicks a seat next to the one he already picked out and it’s available; he speeds through the rest of the buying process and when it shows him the confirmation page he positively screeches. He’s going to see Insooni, live and in person, and it’s going to be _awesome_. 

He bounds down to Myungsoo’s room to share the news, rapping at the door, and he’s pretty sure the exclamation of “Be quiet!” comes from Sunggyu’s room.

But Myungsoo isn't there, and Sungyeol goes back to his bed dejected. 

So he texts him that he got tickets, and Myungsoo replies that he’s out of town that weekend, which sucks. In the meantime, he’s received a very excited text from Victoria saying that she got a ticket and is going with a friend, so there’s the second person he would have considered.

Not that he would have actually asked her, since it might have seemed like a date, and he’s way too embarrassed after last time...

Ah! He could go with Woohyun.

But when he shoots him a text, Woohyun’s emoticon-peppered text reveals he’s going to the matinee with Sunggyu. 

That will not work, then. 

Well—this is a big deal. And honestly, any normal person would probably say yes if he asked, so he’s just going to ask a random person. His fingers hover over his phone. Sungjong it is, then. If he recalls, Sungjong has always had some kind of interest in female prima ballerinas as well, which might work out well. 

“Hello?” Sungjong picks up at first ring. 

Sungyeol rattles off his invitation, feeling kind of awkward because he isn’t really that close with Sungjong. 

Sungjong clears his throat, a delicate noise. “I… actually just got a ticket. Literally a few minutes ago. But why don’t you ask Hoya and he can go with us?”

“What?”

“Hoya. Short, tightly wound, in our class. Your understudy.” 

“Yes. I know Hoya.” Sungyeol feels oddly formal. “You… want me to ask him?”

Sungjong sighs. “Do you need me to do it for you?”

“No! No. I can do it.”

“Great let me know.” Sungjong hangs up, not one for perfunctory communication. 

Sungyeol is seized by a sudden fit of laughter. He hears his phone beeping and sees a text from Sungjong listing out Hoya’s number. 

He dials and hopes Hoya doesn't pick up. Maybe he can get Daeyeol in town for the weekend... Buy him a soda or something to keep him quiet. 

Unfortunately, Hoya answers. 

“You asked Sungjong and he said to call me?” There’s a static noise like Hoya’s fumbling with the phone, probably putting it to his shoulder. It almost sounds like a laugh. “Okay, I think I get it. Yeah, I’ll go if you’re offering one.” 

“Yep, that is what I’m doing.” 

“Okay… Cool.” Hoya lapses into an awkward silence. 

“So… you didn’t manage to get to the website in time?” Sungyeol cringes while he says it, hating his inability to just drop the non-conversation after 30 seconds. 

“Oh, I mean I have a ticket now,” Hoya says, matter-of-fact like he’s affirming he ate cereal for breakfast. 

A strangled noise escapes Sungyeol’s throat. “Please explain.”

“Well, I’m giving mine to Sungjong.”

“What?” Sungyeol repeats. 

“Yeah, I called him as soon as I got confirmation I had one. But I only got one.”

Sungyeol shakes his head back and forth, even though no one’s there to see him. “So you gave your ticket to Sungjong. And now you’re accepting mine. Why would you give it away in the first place?”

“He wanted it more than I did,” Hoya says simply. 

Lots of people want things more than Sungyeol does, but that's why he has to hold onto what he has. Sungyeol shakes the thought from his mind only to find that Hoya is still talking, rambling almost. 

“I can watch videos on the Internet,” Hoya says, like he doesn’t care at all. “If you think someone else should have it.”

Sungyeol presses his hand into his eye socket. “Just… just stop talking. I’m giving mine to you. Or you can keep yours and I’ll give mine to Sungjong, which is what I was gonna do anyways.” 

“Oh.” Hoya keeps sounding surprised, and it’s jarring. “Okay.”

“Well, glad I can facilitate your date,” Sungyeol says, bemused. 

“Ha ha ha...” Hoya forces out. 

“I didn’t know you were good friends with Sungjong.” 

“I have friends.” 

“That’s not what I said.” 

“I know. I have to go.”

“Bye…” Sungyeol says into a dead phone, feeling more than a little ridiculous. 

*

Skip a beat, get ahead of the music, turn, spot, _damn_.

Sungyeol can hear that he’s off the rhythm. He can even identify the exact moment when he gets behind the music, but his traitorous body refuses to let him catch up. 

The port de bras comes on count 3, and his shoulders snap to attention while his arms extend in front and in back, fingers relaxed yet perfectly positioned for elegance. The torso and hips move first on the wave of the downbeat, turning in the opposite direction, but his eyes purposefully remain behind, lingering on Victoria, who is marking the set with her tongue poking out of her mouth, before his head is forced to follow the momentum of the rest of his body. 

His right leg developpes up to a 90 degree angle with his body, his arms circle above his head, he chasses sideways and across the stage in a sliding movement that he knows could be smoother, and into the tour jete… a beat late, once again, he realizes as he leaves the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry I’m off.”

The music halts, since Sungyeol’s stopped moving. He catches a glimpse of Hoya suspended in the air mid-tour jete, looking like pure royalty with the smooth lift of his eyebrows, but the facade drops when Hoya realizes they’re stopping once again. And Hoya looks at him with his usual stony face, and Sungyeol wants to spit out _just because you’re perfect_ , beginning to get caught up in his usual spiral of quick anger wrought in self-loathing and jealousy. He'd given him the ticket at the beginning of the class, and Hoya had only offered a nod of acknowledgement. 

Then Hoya’s expression breaks, something seems to give, and he grudgingly offers, “I was late too.”

Sungyeol glares at him, for the principle of the matter than anything else. And he re-takes the combination, pulling his shoulders forward in alignment with his hips. It helps, but barely. 

The choreographer calls for a five minute break. 

Hoya sits down at the side and pulls out from his bag a wide elastic band, slips it around the ball of his foot so that the band extends and begins a succession of strength exercises. He points and flexes his foot, the band creating resistance that he has to push past. It’s good for the metatarsal and for flexibility. 

But Sungyeol stays in the center. He re-enters the steps, pushing himself to go a little faster, do it better. His arms quake from exertion, but he can hold them in the air longer if he needs to, he knows he can do it—

He spins out of the turn off-balance.

“Take a break already,” Victoria tells him, drinking from her water bottle. 

Sungyeol grins at her and shakes his head before dropping his smile. He dances through the break, painfully aware of the eyes on him. When he glances over at the end, Hoya’s looking at him, too. His mouth has fallen open like he wants to say something, but his eyes are wary and thoughtful. 

Back in the center, they move on and work a different part of the dance. The girls’ pointe shoes clatter on the floor. 

“Sungyeol. By yourself.” 

His confidence is down one minute and up the next, but when it’s on an upswing he can feel it coursing through his veins. He can do this part. 

He enters the dance, plain and twirling and doing the leaps and turns at all the most right moments. He doesn’t look in the mirror and he doesn’t look at his small audience in the room; he doesn’t even think of himself. His arms are weightless, and his legs feel strong. Here he is, and this is where he wants to stay. 

And oh, he thinks, or rather, he feels—this is why he loves ballet. If Myungsoo doesn’t ever feel that—the exhilaration, the weightlessness in the air, the suspension—then he understands why he changed his mind. 

*

Sungyeol had discovered ballet late, at the ripe age of ten. He’d seen a movie, taken one class at the local small studio, and gotten immediately hooked on the strange and new hobby, with all its foreign words and strict comportment rules. It was interesting _and_ difficult, two things that he’d discovered were rare to find together in one activity, much to his scholastic disappointment. There were a lot of girls in class, in fact Sungyeol was the only boy in his year, which he liked as well, but that was only a bonus. 

Even back then, he had a habit of overly investing time into his interests. As a kid, it was collecting bugs and rocks until he had boxes upon boxes of exoskeleton and mud gathering in his room that his mom threw out when she thought he wasn’t looking. As a pre-teen he’d liked a cartoon show, and he’d go around memorizing the dialogue and doing the funny different voices for everyone who would listen until Dad had to ban him from watching it. 

He still liked bugs and mud and that TV show, but ballet was different. Dance was like a fever, an obsession.

He danced in the hallways, in the kitchen and in his bedroom. He drummed the steps and the counts into the wall until Daeyeol screamed for him to stop on the other side. He pointed his toes while he sat on the toilet. He broke a vase, a CD player, and almost his face when he lost his balance doing a high kick. Then Dad had to ban ballet in the house too, but that didn’t stop Sungyeol from doing it when he wasn’t looking. 

Still, Sungyeol remembers he’d been very close to quitting. He had hidden his dancing from the other guys at school, He’d thought they wouldn’t react well. He had been right—though it wasn’t something he _wanted_ to be right about—they’d made fun of him and one of them tried to trip him, even though these were his friends, but Sungyeol had stepped on the guy’s foot instead of tripping over it and run away to his mom’s car. 

“You want to quit. Oh, because it’s too difficult?” Mom had said, putting her hand in his hair while they waited at a red light. No, and Sungyeol told her the reason why. 

And she’d forced him to go inside the studio. They were nice to him there, even though he was older and taller than all the girls, and he learned how to do grand pas de chat that day and tried to forget about how hellish school would become. 

His mom had been right to make him go to class that day, but he still minded the teasing a lot, even when it died down. It wasn’t something he wanted to care about, but he guessed he was just that sort of person. He kept thinking about ballet all the time but talked about it as little as possible, and he wondered if that was how he’d have to go about being a dancer forever. 

In the end it hadn’t mattered, because in the next year, his teachers told his parents that he had greater potential than the studio could offer him and that he should try to go professional, if that was something that he wanted. 

He’d gone for the audition without full knowledge of everything it would mean for his future, how he’d leave home at such a young age, but it had worked out well up to now. In the end, he really just wanted to dance. 

So now, it’s okay if he has to stay up late, and if there’s only one practice room with a light on when he finally goes back to his room to get some sleep after getting the steps he finds difficult. That’s really fine with him, if it means he is finally going somewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://kaiosea.tumblr.com)! I also track #kaiosea and #uasaam and am always ready to receive asks :)  
> (PS, I always forget to mention this but I think ao3 has near-automatic signups these days... if you're interested in an account)


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